


Homicide Hunter

by Brynn_Jones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cop Castiel, Detective Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, murder investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:17:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynn_Jones/pseuds/Brynn_Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They met under the worst kind of circumstances anyone could imagine: one of them drunk, the other a suspect in a murder case. Nothing good could ever come of that right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The murder case in this story has been inspired by a real murder. No disrespect is meant to the victim or the families.

Dean puffed out a heavy breath as he leaned back into the comfortable sofa cushions underneath him, pulling at his waistband to relieve his full stomach a bit. He probably shouldn't have eaten the third serving of Jess' special Christmas turkey, he thought, but he had nearly zero self-control when it came to good food.

"Had enough?" asked his brother cheekily when he noticed his movement.

Dean rolled his eyes in answer but softened his response with a satisfied smile. He was spending both the Christmas Eve and the Christmas Day with his younger brother and his fiancée at their flat, lazing about in warm sock with tacky reindeers that Sam gave him, a tumbler of homemade eggnog in hand and a pound of turkey in his belly - overall just having a good time. They had finished eating about an hour ago and were now sitting in the living room, listening to some jazz music and chatting quietly.

Jess smiled indulgently at him. "I'm glad you enjoyed the dinner, Dean. I did slave over it for the better part of the day."

"No problem, you know I never refuse good food."

"Unless it's a salad," muttered Sam and Dean couldn't help but be reminded of a petulant five-year-old, who was dejected because Dean had burnt their macaroni and cheese dinner, serving Fruit Loops instead.

"I said _good_ food, bitch."

"Jerk."

It was Jess' turn to roll her eyes, letting out a soft laugh. "Boys, please."

Sam turned his gaze towards his fiancée and smiled as he watched Jess titter. It didn't take long for her to notice the attention she was receiving and return the loving stare.

Dean remembered  watching his parents smile at each other like that once, back when he was still a little kid, his mother's blond hair shining with the colourful Christmas lights and his dad's gaze clear of alcohol. It had been the last Christmas they had spent together as a family, their mother dying in a house fire two months before the next one could come along, effectively thus ruining their holidays. Dean had spent that December taking care of baby Sammy and pouring out his father's whiskey bottles whenever the man passed out on the couch.

"How's Benny?" asked Sam suddenly, instinctively knowing Dean was about to slip in a brooding mood.

Dean took a deep breath to clear his head. "Benny's good. He's a bit down because his family didn't invite him over for Christmas but he's coping, you know?"

Sam frowned. "You could have asked him to come with you, you know we wouldn't mind."

"I did ask him," grunted Dean before sipping at his eggnog, "he didn't want to intrude though, said he might visit his girlfriend or something."

Both Sam and Jess nodded in understanding.

Benny was Dean's best friend. They met three years ago when Dean left Kansas and moved all the way to Colorado Springs, so he could start anew. It hadn't been easy though, he didn't know anyone in the new city, didn't have a job or much money. H was just about to try his hand at some pool hustling, when he bumped into a tallish guy with a beard and caused him to spill a coffee on himself. They stroke up a conversation after numerous apologies and twenty minutes later, Dean had both a flatmate and a job.

He has been working at the Singer's Auto shop ever since then and managed to gain a great number of friends in the new city. And Benny had stayed with him the whole time.

It was only a year ago that he saw Sam for the first time after he left and while they did still have a good relationship, Sam chose to move to Denver to be closer to his girlfriend rather than live in Springs with Dean. Dean didn't really mind it that much though, for the first time in his life he felt like he could live his own life without having to take anything or anyone else into consideration. And if he sometimes felt a bit lonely, no one needed to know that.

"Another glass?" asked Jess as she plucked his empty tumbler out of his hand.

Dean smiled at her. "Yeah, thanks."

Jess nodded her acquiescence before she headed towards the kitchen to refill his glass. Dean turned to Sam who was watching her go with a dopey expression on his face.

"You're happy," noted Dean.

Sam bit his lip shyly. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

"That's good," uttered Dean quietly, genuinely happy for his brother. If there was anyone who deserved a good life, it was his little brother. His little brother who had to take care of their quickly deteriorating drunk of a father after Dean had enough of stupid Kansas and left. He didn't really leave because of his dad but he left nonetheless and Sam had to fend for himself.

Jess returned with his eggnog and Dean used it to flush the bitter taste his thoughts left in his mouth. "Thanks, Jess. Anyone ever told you you were an angel?"

The blonde smiled. "Yes, in fact," she answered with a glance at her fiancée, "someone did."

Dean cleared his throat as the two lovers stared adoringly at each other again. "All right, enough with the sappy shit."

Sam scowled at him playfully. "Shut up."

Dean did shut up and let the conversation slide into a comfortable silence. The notes of Sidney Bechet's Summertime softly played out in the warm living room and the three of them sat, listening quietly.

"When are you leaving?" asked Sam after a while, his voice quiet as if not to disturb the peace that settled over them.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "What, you can't wait to get rid of me?"

Sam shook his head with a fond smile. "No, I just don't want you to drive drunk and that," he pointed at Dean's tumbler, "is your fourth glass."

Dean sighed as he pulled out his phone to check the clock. It was a few minutes after ten and Dean had to concede it was getting late. He had to go back to work in the morning and the drive from Denver to Springs was over an hour long, if he wanted to get any sleep at all, he should leave.

"You're right, Sammy. I should be going."

Jess pouted, her eyes closed. "Already? We didn't even tease you about your nonexistent love life."

Dean got up, searching the room for his shoes. "Who said it was nonexistent?"

Sam grinned. "Come on, Dean, if there was even the slightest hint of relationship on the horizon for you, you would've been bragging about it as soon as you walked in here yesterday."

Dean shrugged, deciding not to comment in favour of pulling on his jacket, checking his pockets for his car keys.

Jess opened her eyes slowly, the action obviously taking a lot of energy out of her. "You going to come and hug me g'bye then? I don't think I can stand up right now," she slurred, lifting her arms towards him.

Dean embraced her tightly but quickly, just like a man should embrace his brother's wife-to-be before walking over to Sam and hugging him just as tightly but clinging to him a bit longer.

"Take care, little bro," he mumbled against his shoulder and received a warm squeeze in return.

He waved to Sam and Jess as he opened the door to leave the warm flat and walked out. When he stepped out on the street, he was hit by how different it all felt. Gone was the warmth and the pleasant melodies of jazz and yet the air had a certain calmness to it.

Dean walked about two hundred metres south to his beloved car, tapping it's roof as he unlocked it.

"Hey Baby," he greeted his Impala quietly, the ritual no longer feeling ridiculous.

When he was safely buckled inside, Dean slid in a Pink Floyd cassette, started his car and pulled away from the curb. An hour long drive awaited him.

 

"Benny?" he called out as he entered the darkened flat, his keys jingling as he dropped them into a bowl by the door, "You won't believe the socks Sam gave me. They're so ugly you're gonna retch when you see them."

He received no answer, so he called louder. "Benny! Where are you man? Don't tell me you're sleeping."

Dean entered their living room, dropping his duffle bag on the floor and shrugging out of his jacket. He noticed a darkened shape on the sofa and grinned as he made his way closer. "Hey Benny, I thought you said you wouldn't be caught dead sleeping on the ..."

Dean trailed off. Something was wrong about the way Benny was sitting. His friend was slumped on his right side, his arms in an unnatural position, hands in loose fists and his head tilted. There was also a large dark stain on the shoulders of his shirt and a metallic smell in the air and-

Dear god. Damn. Damn. Benny was dead. There was a gaping bullet hole in his left temple and blood everywhere.

Phone. He had to find a phone and call someone. Call help. What was the number for emergency again?

Dean pulled out his phone from his jeans pocket with trembling hands as he quickly made his way outside again. He was getting seriously nauseous from the smell sitting heavily in the flat. He took a deep breath of the freezing air once he was outside and his head cleared a little.

911\. Right.

 _"911, what's your emergency?"_ came the calm voice of a female phone operator.

Dean's voice trembled. "Right. I am- I found my friend, I think he's dead. I mean he's shot and he's dead and-"

_"Sir, calm down, please. First, tell me your name."_

"Dean," he blurted out, glad he had a clear answer, "Winchester," he added after a beat.

_"Perfect, Dean. Now you said you found your friend dead?"_

Dean nodded quickly. "Yes, Benny. He's shot in the head."

There was the sound of fingers tapping against the keyboard. _"Can you tell me your address?"_

Dean looked around himself as if to search for the answer. "Yeah, I mean, I know the address, I just-" he gulped in a lungful of air, "I don't remember. Oh god, what do I do, I don't remember!"

_"Dean, take a deep breath and calm down. We're locating your phone call and I'm sending police to your destination right now. Can you go and stand in front of your house for me, so the police can find you?"_

"I'm outside. I'm- they'll see me."

_"Good. Now you said your friend's name is Benny?"_

"Yes. Benny Lafitte. What- what do I do now?"

The operator answered in the same calm voice she had been using till now: _"You are going to wait for the officers to arrive, it shouldn't take long, and then they're going to want to talk to you. Are you dressed warmly? It's very cold outside."_

Dean looked down at himself. He didn't feel cold but he noticed that he had left his jacket inside and was now shivering violently. "I'm not cold," he said finally just as he heard the sound of sirens from the distance.

"Very well, just wait a little bit longer, the ambulance is almost there and the police are not far behind."

Dean looked up then and saw a big white vehicle turn into his street. "I can see the ambulance."

_"Very good. I'm going to leave you in their hands then, all right?"_

"All right," he breathed into his mobile phone as the ambulance pulled up, a squad car he hadn't noticed till then stopping right behind it. A tired looking black cop was the first to step out and he headed straight for Dean.

"Are you Dean Winchester?"

Dean nodded, dropping the hand that was still holding a phone to his ear to his waist.

"Where's the body?"

Dean's eyes widened. "The body?"

The copper took a deep breath, obviously fighting for patience even though Dean didn't know what he did wrong. "You said you found a body."

Dean's brain connected. "Oh, Benny- he is upstairs. Flat number 4C. I think I left the door open."

The officer nodded to his partner, pointing upwards. "He's in 4C." Then he turned back to Dean. "My name is Uriel Roth. Now, Mr Winchester, can you tell me what exactly happened?"

Dean felt the panic creeping up on him again, so he took a deep breath just like the phone operator told him to do before even attempting to talk. "I came home and I thought he was sleeping and then I saw the blood and the hands and-"

"Calm down, Mr Winchester, you came home from where?"

"Uh, I spent Christmas with my brother in Denver."

The officer jotted something down and Dean noticed over his shoulder that another two squad cars had pulled up and a ten metre perimeter had been taped off.

"Did you call the emergency right away?"

Dean tried to remember. "I think so. I mean, I ran back downstairs because I didn't- couldn't- but yeah, I called right away."

"All right. You said the victim's name was Benny Lafitte, correct?"

"Yes."

The officer again wrote something in his little notebook. "And he lived here?"

Dean nodded. "We're flatmates."

"And he had been alone here during Christmas?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by a paramedic that came up to him with a shock blanket and draped it over his shoulders. It was then he noticed he was still shivering. "Thank you," he forced out, the urge to be polite engraved in him since early childhood.

The paramedic just waved him off, sliding his eyes up and down Dean's body, presumably to check for injuries.

"Mr Winchester, was Benny alone at your flat during the holidays?"

Dean turned back to the black man in front of him. "Ah, yes. I think so. I mean, he told me he would be."

"Very well. What do you think happened then?"

Dean's mind whirled with possibilities. He wanted to say it was an accident or something but even he understood no one accidentally shot himself in the temple. "I think Benny shot himself. He, uh, he was down because his family didn't want him over for Christmas, so I think ..." Dean paused to take a breath, coughing as his lungs filled with freezing air, "I mean I never thought he would do it but his parent were, uh, unpleasant."

The officer scowled at him but again wrote something down in his notebook. At that point, his partner came out of the building, a large camera in his hands and for the first time Dean realized he was right in the middle of a crime scene. He had often imagined how cool a police investigation would be while watching some CSI or other and now he wished he had never even thought about it. There he was, amongst uniformed cops that were trotting about with hands full of evidence bags and cameras and notebooks and the only thing he wanted was to be as far away from all of this as possible.

"We gotta call Novak," said the policeman with the camera to the guy who introduced himself as Uriel.

The black cop nodded. "I thought so," then he turned back to Dean, "Don't leave the premises, Mr Winchester, Lieutenant Novak might want to talk to you when he arrives."

Dean couldn't do anything but nod numbly. Not like he had anywhere to go at the moment anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel pushed at the feet that had landed in his lap clumsily. "Gabriel, put your smelly appendages away," he grumbled, secretly proud of himself that he could articulate such long words without stuttering despite the level of alcohol in his system, but outwardly annoyed at his brother's antics.

Gabriel squinted at him from where he was lying on the sofa next to him. "You're in my way, little brother, I can't help it."

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Your way is faulty then."

The shorter man screwed his face into a confused expression, seemingly thinking long and hard about what Castiel said. After a few minutes of contemplative silence, he asked: "Wait what? What way?"

Castiel sighed, finishing his glass of red wine in one long gulp. He suddenly couldn't remember what they were talking about nor did he really care. His mind was sluggish and his senses were dulled. In short, he was in a proper Christmas mood, he was drunk. Well, tipsy but any other man would be drunk had he imbibed the same quantity of alcohol - Gabe's words, not his.

So here he was, sitting on his brother's large leather sofa, which if Gabriel was to be believed once served as a set for a Casa Erotica video. Castiel hadn't asked if that happened before or after Gabriel bought it, some things were better to just ignore.

"Whatcha thinking about, Cassie?"

Castiel turned to look at his older sibling. He hated being called Cassie, it wasn't respectable enough for a homicide detective of his calibre, in fact it sounded more appropriate for a porn star rather than a police lieutenant.

"Don't call me that."

Gabriel grinned, his muscles not working properly and making his smile go crooked. "It's my duty as an older sib'ing to call you names."

Castiel decided not to reply and instead poured himself another glass of Merlot before leaning back into the decorative sofa pillows that he had piled up behind himself. He was bored and started contemplating going out for a few minutes to clear his head.

It was then that his phone rang.

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, knowing very well that a phone ringing that late at night could mean only one thing. A murder.

"Novak," grumbled Castiel into the receiver.

 _"Hello Lieutenant, I'm afraid we have a possible homicide for you, sir. A guy shot in the head, found by his roommate. It's been called in twenty minutes ago,"_ came the voice of a female officer who drew desk duty on the Christmas Day night, Hannah. She was awfully chipper for quarter to twelve at night. Then again, she was always like that.

"Where?" he asked, not trying to come up with a more sophisticated question in fear of screwing it up in his drunken state.

_"Lawrence Avenue. It's in Knob Hill."_

Castiel frowned. That was almost on the other side of the city, which would be a pain in his state. On the other hand, if he had to drive that far, there was a possibility he would sober up in time to start investigating.

_"Sir?"_

"Yes," Castiel rasped out, his throat suddenly dry for no apparent reason, "I'll be right there."

 _"Good luck, sir,"_ came the cheerful answer.

Castiel didn't bother to reply and just ended the call. He turned to his brother. "I have to go."

Gabriel nodded in understanding. "A murder?"

"Possibly," admitted the detective as he stood up and shrugged on his trench coat. It was a good thing he was already in his suit as he had been on call for the day. Not that he really expected anything to happen but it's better to be prepared - case in point, the call from Hannah.

As Castiel made his way over to the door, congratulating himself on managing to keep his balance fairly easily, Gabriel started laughing.

"What?" he grunted, not in the mood for Gabe's jokes.

"Nothing. I just realized that you're detective Colombo," heaved out his brother in between chuckles, "you know, with the trench coat and stuff."

Castiel tilted his head to the left, trying to decide whether his brother was serious. "You told me that numerous times before, Gabriel."

"Did I?"

"Yes," said the detective and finally left the apartment. He walked down the stairs, holding tightly onto the banister the whole way, before finally stepping out on the street. The cold air immediately cleared his mind a bit and for the first time, Castiel started really thinking about the murder.

Someone really had been killed on Christmas Day.

Not that it never happened, Castiel knew that some of his colleagues took murder calls during Christmas, but this was a first one for him.

He searched out his old Ford Mustang, the dark brown colour seemingly black in the near darkness of the city night, and walked over before sliding into the driver's seat and starting the engine. He then gritted his teeth and rolled down his window. He was most likely going to freeze his face off as he drove but the cold air should sober him up.

The drive didn't take him as long as he expected since there was next to no traffic in the streets, which would've been good on any other day but which didn't really do much for Castiel's inebriety. He pulled up to the curb next to the police perimeter and got out, immediately settling his eyes on Balthazar.

Balthazar Roche was one of the better officers in the Colorado Springs police force. He was a quick thinker and a hard worker, both qualities Castiel tried to encourage in all of his man but not everyone was willing to change.

"Hi, boss," greeted the officer, his accent apparent even in those two words.

"Hello, Balthazar. What do we have?"

"A dead fellow, Benny Lafitte. Just one bullet in his left temple but his face underwent some rearranging from what I could tell."

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Someone punched him?"

The other man nodded. "And not just once, broke his nose."

"What else?"

"His roommate, Dean Winchester," Balthazar pointed at a tall guy standing by the front door, looking lost, "found him when he came home from a visit with his brother. At least that's what Uriel managed to get out of him. The poor bloke's in shock. Thinks Lafitte committed suicide."

Castiel nodded his head. "That's not what you think though."

Balthazar smiled. "Other than the broken nose, there's also no gun, boss. Suicide is not an option even in theory."

"All right, I'll go have a look at the place, then I'll talk to Mr Winchester myself. See to it that he doesn't disappear."

"Sure thing."

Castiel then headed straight inside - taking care to really walk straight - then up two flights of stairs and into the open door with a police tape across it, noting absently there were no signs of forced entry on the lock. He nodded his greetings at the few officers crawling around the place before looking around properly.

The body in the corner of the sofa was the most prominent feature and the detective quickly catalogued what he could see. He noticed the bruised face, the bullet hole in the side of the head - entrance as well as exit wound - then the hole in the sofa cushions, where the metal projectile had been embedded before some officer plucked it out and bagged it. He inspected the victim's hands - loose fists - he didn't expect to be shot, his murderer must've surprised him.

Castiel then looked around the living room, noticing a few places, where marks in dust signalled a few items had been stolen - possibly a television or a computer. There was a pen on the coffee table in front of the victim, though nothing to write on.

Other than a duffle bag dropped haphazardly in the living room doorway - most likely belonging to the flatmate - nothing else seemed out of place. No signs of struggle. No signs of ransacking. Nothing to indicate who or why could've killed the man still lying on the couch.

Castiel turned to one of his men, not bothering to recall his name since he was using his full brain capacity for other things - for example how to behave like he hadn't singlehandedly drank three bottles of wine. "Is the ME on his way?"

"Yes, sir. He should be here in ten minutes or so."

Castiel nodded. "Very well, continue bagging and tagging what you can, including that pen over there, and try and lift any fingerprints you can around those marks right there," he pointed at the places where he suspected some electronics stood.

The officer, whose name began with an N or a D - Castiel wasn't sure - nodded once before going over to the others and repeating Castiel's orders, taking care of the pen himself.

Castiel took another look around, satisfied he didn't miss anything, before heading out again. When he stepped out, he noticed his head had been swimming slightly in the warm air of the flat and it settled again in the winter night. It seemed to be a reoccurring thing.

He turned to the man who found the body - Dean Winchester - and regarded him quietly. He was tall and firmly built - he'd be able to overpower the victim without too much trouble, though if the need arose, Castiel could take him down. He couldn't discern the man's colouring, neither his eyes nor his hair, because the nearby streetlamp cast  yellow glow over everything, but he felt certain he'd recognize him if he met him in the street at some point in the future.

He cleared his throat quietly to get rid of some of his usual raspiness - a habit he acquired in order to sound sympathetic and nonthreatening - before coming up to the man.

"Mr Winchester?," he said to make his presence known, "I'm Lieutenant Novak, the lead on the case. Can I speak to you for a moment."

It had been admittedly a rhetorical question but the answer might give him some idea as to the character of the witness. Some people were overly obliging and too pleasant, which was always suspicious, while some were downright rude and refused to talk.

Mr Winchester was neither. If anything, he was out of it a tad.

"What?" he asked, his voice breaking with disuse. He continued after clearing his throat: "I mean, yeah, sure."

Castiel nodded, making sure to keep his face impassive and not stand too close to the man, so he couldn't smell the wine on his breath.

"Did you notice anything amiss when you were upstairs in your flat?"

The man looked confused. "Amiss?"

"Out of place. For example, was the door locked when you came home?"

Dean seemed to struggle to remember for a while but then his gaze cleared. "No, actually, it wasn't. I didn't even realize, Benny sometimes doesn't lock it. He, uh, he says it's too much work."

"And he was alone during the holidays?"

"Yeah, I mean, he said he would be, unless he went to visit his girlfriend."

Castiel tilted his head. "His girlfriend?"

"Yeah, Jo Harvelle. She lives in Peyton, which is like a few minutes that way," he waved his hand in the vague direction of East.

Castiel pulled out his notebook, quickly jotting the information down. He normally didn't have to write anything down, being able to remember everything essential, but he didn't really trust his memory at the moment. When he was finished, he looked up.

"Did you notice if something is missing? Any valuables, electronics or money?"

Dean squinted at him. "Man, I don't know ... I was there for like a minute and then I shot the hell out of there."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. Dean seemed a bit embarrassed at what he'd just said but the detective thought he just got the first honest look at who the man really was. e didn't comment though, choosing to keep asking instead:  "Can we go and have a look then? We need to make a list if anything is missing."

Dean seemed hesitant. "Is he- is he still there?"

It took Castiel a few seconds longer than usual to figure out what Dean was talking about. He didn't want to see his dead friend again, which was understandable, and he looked genuinely frightened. If Dean was the one who killed Benny, he was a very good actor, Castiel thought.

"I'm sorry, Mr Winchester, I didn't realize. We'll wait until the ME takes him away. Until then, what can you tell me about your friend?"

"Uh-"

"What was he like? Where did he work?"

"He is - I mean, was - a soldier in the army reserves, was about to get shipped off to Syria next year. Until then he helped out at the Singer's Auto Shop just off the East Platte. That's where I work as well."

Castiel nodded, dutifully writing down _'Singer Auto E Platte Ave'_ before looking up again. "And his girlfriend, Jo, did they have a good relationship?"

Dean gave him an unsure smile. "Well, it was a bit no strings attached from what I could tell but it seemed to work for them."

"Did he have any family?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, though he didn't talk about them much. Didn't really see eye to eye. His father cheated on his mother and had another son before Benny was even born. It made things difficult, you know. It's not like they hate each other, they just ignore each other."

Castiel stepped a bit closer to Dean in order to move out of a way of a medical gurney the local ME was pushing inside. "So he didn't have good relationship with any of them?"

Dean shrugged helplessly. "I really think they cared - at least Benny seemed to love them - they just didn't know how to show it."

"Do you have an address or a phone number for his parents?"

Dean patted his pockets, probably to locate his mobile phone. "I have their landline number in my phone, wait."

Castiel smiled tightly at the flustered man - hoping he looked understanding - letting out a quiet breath when Dean found what he was looking for. His head was starting to throb and he really hoped he had a bottle of Paracetamol in his glove box.

"Here," Dean handed his phone over, "that's the number."

Castiel squinted at the bright screen and wrote the number down before returning the device to its owner. He then closed his notebook, shoving it back into his trench coat.

"I'll come back for you when the ME's finished, Mr Winchester. Please wait a few more minutes," he told the man with a compassionate pat on the arm and without waiting for a response, he dragged his feet over to his Mustang. He had to find those painkillers if he hoped to work through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean tried not to watch as the cops rolled out the stretcher with a black zip bag on it. Again, it was a sight one encountered many times on the telly and didn't think much of it, yet when seen in real life, with a real dead person, it was ten thousand times worse.

He still couldn't believe Benny was dead. Just three days ago or so he had been joking around with Dean, telling him that if he ever found a girl he'd love more than his Baby, Benny would pay for an engagement ring for the lass. And now he was in a goddamn body bag.

Dean knew that the cop who had been standing way too close while interrogating him - a technique meant to scare him, he was sure - was going to come back and take him upstairs any moment now and ask him even more questions. Dean didn't think it was really all that necessary but it was obvious the cops didn't believe Benny committed a suicide.

In fact, if Dean had to guess, they thought he was the one that shot him. Why else would they keep him around for so long? They all thought the worst of him, just because he found his dead friend.

For example that dick Uriel. The whole time he was talking to him, he had a sour expression on his face, like Dean was bothering him. Wasn't it his damn job to ask these questions? Then why did he act as if it was Dean's fault he was working tonight?

And the guy's partner, who threw him a sympathetic smile every time he went past him, was probably playing the good cop, trying to make him confess to something.

And last but not least, the Lieutenant. He didn't even remember if he told Dean his name, if so it was probably very unremarkable, otherwise he'd remember.

The guy himself was most likely also ordinary, though Dean couldn't really describe his looks or even facial expressions.

Dean looked around, searching the crowd of policemen, finding the cop in question a few metres to his right, shutting the door of a pretty sweet Mustang. He watched as the guy went up to talk to the coroner - or whoever they called in on these kinds of cases. The two men exchanged a few words, then the Lieutenant turned jerkily to where Dean was standing and swayed on his feet slightly, seemingly having a spot of trouble with keeping his balance after the fast movement. The coroner even had to steady him with a grip on the upper arm.

If Dean didn't know better, he would say the detective was hammered but having talked to him just a few minutes earlier and not noticing him stumble over his words even once, let alone have problems standing on his feet, he decided it had been just an act of his imagination.

Not like he could rely much on his perception at the moment. For example, he could swear Benny was still waiting upstairs for him to come home and talk about horrible reindeer socks, while the guy was in fact lying in a body bag, about to be cut open by some dead-people-doctor and examined like in all those TV shows. At that moment, Dean's brain decided to grace him with a picture of a just-extracted liver quivering in a silver kidney-shaped bowl, and it was all he could do not to throw up at the imaginary.

He was still fighting his roiling stomach, when the Lieutenant stepped up to him, completely undetected.

''Mr Winchester, are you feeling well?''

Dean nodded his head jerkily, not daring to open his mouth and answer vocally just yet.

''Are you ready to come up with me then?''

Was he ready? No. Did he have a choice though? Also probably not. He could just imagine what would happen if he didn't cooperate. He'd be in cuffs before he could say 'not guilty' and on his way downtown.

So even though he didn't feel the least bit ready, he nodded again in acquiescence and let himself be led upstairs. Once there, they went through a police tape cross that was fixed to the doorway and found themselves in the middle of the living room.

Immediately Dean's eyes went to the blood stain on the couch, despite him telling himself the whole way up he wouldn't look. It didn't really look like blood, he realized, now that the lights were on Dean could see the stain had a dark brown colour that not even vaguely resembled fresh blood.

"Can you see something missing, Mr Winchester?" came a gravelly voice from his right.

Dean turned to look at the cabinets on the opposite side of the room than where the couch was, getting a whiff of wine as he moved his head but he wasn't able to pinpoint the smell's origin. He slid his eyes over the empty surfaces.

"Yeah, our TV is missing. And a stereo that was right over there," he pointed to the left, "Is that what this is about? Was this a burglary?" he aimed the question at the detective still standing by his shoulder.

"It's under investigation," was the reply, which really didn't tell him anything. What a conceited douchenozzle, thought Dean. "Can you think of anything else?"

Dean looked around again. "Well, maybe Benny's laptop but it could be in his room."

The Lieutenant nodded, signalling something to one of his men. "We'll look into it. Now, if that's all you can think of, I'll have one of my people drive you to a hotel or somewhere else you'll be staying."

Dean balked at the thought of an empty hotel room. "I'll be staying with my uncle Bobby. I mean, he's really not my uncle, he's my boss ... I mean, he's just like an uncle. Or a father. I mean, yeah," he finished, slightly embarrassed at his rambling.

"That would be Mr Singer?" asked the cop - wait a second was he really wearing a trench coat? Colombo wannabe much? - after he peeked into his little notebook.

"Yes, that's him. He lives above the shop."

The Lieutenant squinted at him, his chin jutting forward slightly. "Very well, I'll know where to find you then. If you could only write your telephone number down for me, so we can contact you more easily?"

Dean took the notebook and pen that was being offered to him and quickly wrote down is number, almost drawing a heart next to it out of habit. He caught himself in time though and soon enough he was being led to one of the squad cars.

He gave the cop behind the wheel Bobby's address and leaned back into the grey upholstery.

 

"Dean?" asked a sleep-rumpled Bobby after he opened the door.

"Hi," he greeted him sheepishly, knowing very well the older man didn't take too kindly to being woken up before his customary seven o'clock.

"What did you do, you idjit?" said Bobby with raised eyebrows when he noticed the police car still standing in the street.

"Can we talk about it inside?"

His employer still looked sceptical but nodded his head. "Sure, come on in."

Dean stepped into  a wood panelled hallway and was about to shrug off his jacket when he realized he didn't have one. No wonder his arms felt like ice. He decided not to dwell on it as he heard Bobby start up a fire in the next room and figured he'd be warm soon enough.

He followed his uncle into the living room, sitting rigidly at the edge of a smoke-infested leather armchair, facing the other man who had taken a seat on the coffee table.

"Benny's dead," he answered the silent question in a monotone voice.

"Shit," whispered Bobby, running a hand through his thinning hair. Without another word, he stood up, walked over to one of his bookcases and took out a thick volume. There was a half-drunk bottle of Jameson behind it. Next the gruff man pulled out two shot glasses from a nearby cabinet and poured two thumbs of whiskey in each of them.

Dean raised his eyebrows as he accepted the drink. "I thought you didn't drink, Bobby."

"I don't," the man grunted as he threw back his glass, not bothering to give any sort of explanation.

Dean shrugged and gulped down his own shot. It didn't really matter. Instead he decided to address another issue: "Do you think I could stay here for a while? Benny is- I found him in our flat."

"Jesus, boy," sighed Bobby, "Of course you can stay."

Dean accepted a refill of the amber liquid and threw it back again. If he continued on in this manner, he'd soon be drunk as hell and his head would kill him in the morning.

Not that he cared.

 

Castiel's head was already killing him. The two Paracetamols he took about an hour ago didn't work and he was now left to inform Benny's parents of his death while having a throbbing headache. Giving the bad news to a victim's family was always a dire business and were it not so telling as to the honesty of emotion, Castiel would never do it.

The fact remained though that the informational value of such a visit was usually quite great, so he was stuck in his car, driving over to people who didn't want their son visiting them over Christmas. It should be a pleasant experience, he though sarcastically.

He turned off the East Platte Avenue at the exit for Peterson Air Force Base before turning left at the first opportunity - going in the opposite direction of the actual base - and after five minutes he was standing in front of a well-maintained house with the name Lafitte written in fancy letters next to an old-fashioned doorbell.

He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and pressed the button, hearing a la-di-da tune resonate throughout the house in reaction. Well, to each his own, he figured.

"Yes?" came a sleepy droned out question from the speaker next to the bell.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he started in his well-practiced tone, "my name is Lieutenant Novak, may I speak with Mr and Mrs Lafitte?"

"Did something happen, officer?" The voice was recognizably female now but not much more alert than before.

Castiel almost rolled his eyes at the words though, stopping himself just in time, mindful of the fact that there might be a camera watching him. He hadn't been an officer in years, having worked hard for the rank he had now, but he had learnt not to let it get to him when people called him officer. He supposed that most of the time they didn't mean to be offensive.

"May I come in?" he asked instead of replying to the woman's query. He wanted to see their faces as he told them the news.

"Yes, of course," came the hesitant answer, followed by the rattling of a door chain and Castiel realized the woman had been standing behind the door the whole time, talking with him through an electronic piece of equipment rather than through the thin wood of the front door.

When the woman finally opened the door, there was another person standing in the hallway next to her, both him and the woman were clad in warm pyjamas and woollen socks. The man - most likely Mr Lafitte - had his arm around his wife and they both wore a worried expression on their faces, but that was to be expected when a policemen comes knocking.

Castiel pulled out his badge, despite not being asked to do so - it was a good habit to have if one wanted to avoid legal difficulties - before asking: "Are you Mr and Mrs Lafitte?"

"Yes, can we help you, sir?" asked the woman, dropping the 'officer' once she saw he wasn't wearing an uniform but a suit. Castiel ignored the question, instead motioning for her to lead the way to somewhere they could talk. They ended up sitting in a professionally decorated living room, all three of them uncomfortable.

Castiel started talking: "My name is Castiel Novak and I am a homicide lieutenant for Colorado Springs. I'm afraid I have to inform you that your son, Benny Lafitte, has been found dead earlier tonight."

Mrs Lafitte immediately whitened in her face, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, while her husband inhaled a surprised breath. Both of their reactions seemed genuine as Castiel watched them fighting tears.

"What happened?" whispered the woman.

"He has been murdered, I am truly sorry for your loss," said Castiel, the sentence heavy and yet so familiar on his lips.

"Oh my god," sobbed Mrs Lafitte, "my poor baby."

Mr Lafitte grabbed his wife's hand, squeezing it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Neither of them noticed they were crushing each other's fingers.

After a few minutes Castiel decided he had given them enough time for the first shock to settle in. Of course, as a human, he'd like to give them all the time in the world, as a policeman though, he had to move this thing along.

"Can you tell me why your son was spending Christmas alone?"

The mother lifted her red eyes to look at Castiel. "We don't have very good relationships with our son, sir," she said in a weak voice but without stumbling over her words, "when it came to important things, we were a family and we tried to help each other but the rest of the time, we didn't see eye to eye."

"Did your son have any enemies? Anyone that might have wanted to cause him harm?"

Both grieving parents started shaking their heads, just like Castiel predicted - people always said the victim was the nicest person they'd ever known and couldn't have possibly had any enemies - but a second later Mrs Lafitte bit her lip uncertainly and Castiel instantly knew he was going to receive some serious information.

"Well," started the distraught woman, "Lennie isn't very fond of him at the moment."

"Lennie?" asked the Lieutenant, pulling out his notebook.

"Our second son, he's Benny's half brother."

"And why would Lennie want to kill Benny?"

The woman bristled. "I didn't mean he wanted to kill him but they did have an awful argument just a few weeks back. Lennie is a - ehm - a drug dealer, you know. Benny didn't like it and-"

She was interrupted by her husband: "Not that we agreed with his chosen life but we are intelligent enough to recognize we can't help him. He doesn't want to be helped."

Mrs Lafitte nodded. "Yes of course but Benny wanted to hear none of that. He said that Lennies life style was going to get him killed one day," she paused, "to which Lennie replied that it wouldn't be him who would end up dead."

"We didn't think it was meant seriously though, sir, Lennie always says things like that," her husband was quick to explain.

Castiel nodded. "And where can I find Lennie?"

Both parents now shook their heads. Mr Lafitte then voicing what Castiel already figured: "We have no idea but I'm sure some of his _customers_ would know."

Five minutes later, Castiel was back in his car, using his phone to dial the station.

"Colorado Springs Homicide, how can I help you?" came the bright voice from the other end of the line.

"Hannah," grunted the Lieutenant, "send Roth and Arndt to bring in Lennie Lafitte, a local drug dealer. I want him for questioning."

"And where can they find said drug dealer?"

"I haven't the foggiest, just tell them to be as quick as possible."

"Sure thing, boss. Anything else?" she asked her voice gaining a sweet inflection.

Castiel racked his brain for anything else he might need, since Hannah seemed to want him to. When he came up empty handed, he replied: "I don't think so, thank you, Hannah."

"You're welcome, Lieutenant," said the officer on the front desk duty, her voice tinged with disappointment, before a soft click announced the termination of their conversation. Castiel felt like he should've came up with something for Hannah to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think so far, please :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, I hope you still like me :)

An annoyingly loud sound woke Dean from is uneasy sleep, giving him an ear-splitting headache. He fumbled around, trying to locate his phone, managing to knock over a glass in the process.

"Winchester," he announced as he picked up the offending device.

"This is Lieutenant Novak of Colorado Springs Homicide speaking, Mr Winchester?"

Dean rolled his eyes. Didn't he just say that? "Yes?" was all he said though.

"We'd like you to come down the station for some further questioning. Do you have time this morning?"

Dean looked at the clock, it was almost ten o'clock. If Novak wanted him to come downtown in the morning, he had only two hours to make it there. Good thing the station was just a few minutes outside Knob Hill, the big brick red building hard to miss.

"I'll be there in an hour?" said Dean uncertainly, stupidly hoping the cop would suddenly tell him that everything's all right and that he didn't have to go anywhere and could stay curled up on Bobby's couch and treat his hangover - preferably with another bottle of whiskey.

No such luck. "That would be acceptable," came the gruff response and Dean felt like he had somehow offended the guy.

"K," mumbled Dean, "see ya," he finished, and not bothering with proper telephone etiquette, he hung up immediately after.

So he was going to the police station. Brilliant. As if he didn't already feel like a criminal. Dean straightened the clothes he was wearing, figuring they'd have to do since he didn't have an access to his flat. He scowled at the reindeer socks, thinking they were even more hideous than the day before and went in search of some coffee. Finding coffee was easy, locating a mug - not so much. He was ruffling through Bobby's cupboards, moving around various plates and bowls, nicking his hand on a sharp knife that had been hid underneath some spare coasters. He moved aside some shot glasses, wondering why there was a carafe filled with what looked and smelled like water behind them, when he accidentally knocked over the can of coffee he had set on the counter.

"What are you doing boy?" came an annoyed question from behind him.

Dean turned his head around so fast he nearly got a whiplash. "Bobby!" he cried out, flustered.

"Idjit," muttered the older man, going past Dean to the kitchen widow, drawing back a heavy curtain to reveal a row of perfectly washed coffee cups. "I have them in here since there wasn't space in the cupboards."

Dean scowled. "That's an evil hiding place, Bobby."

His uncle shrugged, bending down to pick up the thankfully unopened can of coffee. "And this is an evil way to treat my stuff. Don't think I haven't noticed the broken tumbler you left in the living room."

Dean shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry?"

Bobby very obviously fought an urge to roll his eyes. "Doesn't matter, just make some coffee."

Dean smiled weakly. "Sure."

His uncle's raised eyebrow was asking a question, basically saying: "What's wrong?"

"I have to go to the station for interrogation. The cop leading the case must think I'm Jeffrey Dahmer or something."

"Did you eat any people lately?"

Dean threw him a confused look. "What? Of course not. Did Dahmer really do that?"

Bobby just gave him an impatient look and motioned for Dean to get started on his morning coffee. Dean did as suggested, quietly pouring water into the kettle and waiting for it to boil, while thinking of serial killers. He wondered if the bothersome Lieutenant ever caught one, figuring a few seconds later that it was unlikely.

What authority did Novak have to suggest Dean was a murderer then? It should be made a necessity for detectives to catch at least one serial killer before they can lead an investigation, Dean concluded with a childish glee.

"The water's boiled," said Bobby gruffly and Dean realized the kettle has been quiet for some while already. He poured the hot water into the two cups that Bobby prepared - when he did that, Dean had no idea - and brought the finished coffee over to the kitchen table.

"Do you think they'll arrest me?" he asked Bobby in a small voice, so unlike his normal persona that it gave his uncle a pause.

"Of course not, you silly boy."

Dean nodded. That was good, if Bobby thought they wouldn't arrest him, then they most likely wouldn't. He looked at the old grandma clock that Bobby had by the refrigerator and sighed. He had literally spent an hour making two cups of coffee.

Ten minutes later, Dean sat behind the wheel of an older model of Ford that Bobby had at hand and drove off towards the South Shooks Run Park. He turned left behind it and after a few seconds the Police building came into sight.

Here goes nothing, thought Dean as he parked the car, absently thinking of his Baby, standing alone in front of his flat.

He walked in, looking around the entrance hall - and what kind of police station had an entrance hall? - and noticed an orientation board on a wall to his right. If it was to be believed, the homicide department was on the second floor, so Dean opted not to talk to the grumpy-looking fellow sitting behind the front desk and instead just headed for the stairs.

He climbed up the two flights and ended up in front of another front desk, this time with a good looking female officer with brown hair and blue eyes behind it. He walked up to it and cleared his throat quietly.

"Hello? I'm supposed to talk to Lieutenant Novak?" he said uncertainly and was relieved when the policewoman didn't look at him like you would look at a homicidal maniac.

"Of course, Mr Winchester, right?" she asked brightly.

"Yeah."

She stood up. "Great, just come with me."

Dean told himself he followed her just because she was pretty and not because it would be suspicious not to. The woman led him through a brightly lit hallway with lots of glass doors and floor-to-ceiling windows, enabling Dean to see people in suits sitting behind nice desks, pushing papers. Who would've thought the coppers would have such nice digs?

Suddenly, they turned a sharp corner and ended up in front of four dark brown doors. Dean couldn't see into the rooms behind those doors since there were no windows and it instantly made him nervous. The officer must've noticed him tensing up because she smiled at him.

"Don't worry, Mr Winchester," said the brunette, "it's just an interview. No need to get nervous."

Dean gave her a hesitant smile in answer before following her into a room with the words 'Interrogation 2' on the door. Interview my ass, he thought. He was being treated like a common criminal.

Well, to be fair, he had no idea how they treated criminals in this joint but he already felt violated and they didn't even start on him yet. He wondered what the interrogation would look like. Would they yell at him? Would they play the god cop bad cop drama to get him to confess. Would they threaten to hit him? Were they even allowed to do that?

"Just sit right here," said the officer, pointing towards a wooden chair that sat next to a bright white desk. The room didn't really look like what he saw on the TV, it was smaller, it didn't have a one-way glass anywhere and the table sat in the corner, which positioned the two chairs beside it at a ninety degree angle. Curious.

The officer gave him a soft smile when he sat down. "Lieutenant Novak will be here in a minute," she said with a dreamy expression on her face and turned to leave. On her way back out, he saw her flip the small sign on the door from 'vacant' to 'in use'.

Dean sat quietly in the uncomfortable chair, noticing the small things about the room he hadn't seen during his first inspection. There was a camera in the corner above the door, a flickering red light indicating it was recording. On the table, there was a little silver nameplate thingy with a picture of a crossed cigarette on it and - curiously enough - there was an ashtray right next to it.

Dean bit his lip. The cops here didn't seem to like following instructions too much so maybe they wouldn't have too many scruples about hitting him after all.

By the time the door clicked open some odd minutes later, Dean had worked himself up from a mild anxiety  to a full blown feeling of panic. He turned his head towards the sound and his eyes met with those of Lieutenant Novak.

The first thing he noticed about the detective was that his movements were a lot sharper and more precise than they were the night before, despite the fact that he had undoubtedly not slept a wink.

"Good morning, Mr Winchester," began the dark haired man in a deep gravelly voice, a neutral expression on his face. It made Dean nervous since he couldn't figure out if he was meant to be the good or the bad cop.

"Morning," he muttered in reply.

The cop pulled out his chair before sitting down and opening a folder in front of himself. "First of all, Mr Winchester," he started speaking as he clicked on a pen, "you are not under arrest, therefore you may leave the room whenever you want to. I do ask that you try to answer my questions first though as it might help us in our investigation."

Dean nodded silently, still trying to figure out the guy's game plan.

"I need a vocal response, Mr Winchester."

"Yeah," he croaked out, "I understand.

"Now, could you tell me where you were exactly between twenty-three hundred and oh-four hundred the night from twenty fourth to twenty fifth December?"

It took a few seconds for Dean to wrap his brain around the question. "Between eleven and four? I already told that to that officer yesterday."

The detective looked exasperated for a second before putting on his neutral expression again. "I'd like you to answer again, Mr Winchester, so that we have it on a camera and can put it in your statement."

"Oh, okay. I was with my brother and his fiancée at their flat in Denver."

"Can they vouch for you for the entirety of that time frame?" he asked as he wrote something down.

"Uh, I think so? I have to say I don't remember exactly when we went to sleep."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Can you give us your brother's details? We will need to confirm your claims, you understand?"

Dean nodded again, taking the offered pen from the cop and jotting down Sammy's phone number and address. "Like that?"

"That is sufficient, yes."

Sufficient? Who the hell even spoke like that anymore?

"When exactly did you arrive at your flat the next night?" was the next question.

Dean had to think about it. He had left Sammy's at something after ten and the drive to Sprigs took him something over an hour, which would make it ...

"It must've been around half past eleven or so."

"Did you look at the clock?"

Dean snorted. "No, man, it didn't seem to matter at the time."

Novak nodded sympathetically. "Of course. And you called the police right away?"

"Yeah. I ran out and when I could remember the emergency number, I called," he finished, his cheeks slightly pink from embarrassment at not remembering a notoriously known number right away.

The cop smiled slightly at his words though and Dean was suddenly hit by how attractive the man was. He had no idea how he could not have noticed that before. Novak had dark dishevelled hair, bright blue eyes that could give the lady at the front desk a run for her money and a nicely chiselled jaw with traces of dark stubble.

Dean smiled back at him then, barely suppressing his urge to flirt. That would've probably made him seem even more suspicious than he already was.

The cop continued with his line of questioning: "On your way to the flat, did you notice anything suspicious?"

"Well, I told you yesterday that the door wasn't locked."

"I am aware," nodded Novak, "but what about your drive home? Any suspicious movements? Fast drivers?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. There might have been some drunk drivers but I really didn't notice anything. I, uh, don't really know how anyone can remember anything. When I don't know it'll be important, I don't usually remember."

"That is not unusual, you don't have to worry. The information we receive is either useless or incorrect most of the time," said the Lieutenant with a tilt of his head.

Dean smiled again. The guy was a bit stiff but he was really hot when he looked at him like that, too bad he suspected him of murdering his best friend.

"What about your relationship with Mr Lafitte? How did you get along?"

Dean took a deep breath. "We were best friends. He helped me out of a tight situation, got me a job. We were good."

"No arguments?" asked the Lieutenant sceptically.

Dean shrugged. "We argued about banal stuff, you know? Like who was supposed to do the dishes or who screwed up the movie queue on Netflix. We never had a serious fight."

The other man pursed his lips in a cute thoughtful expression. "Very well. Last thing I have, did Benny have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt him?"

Dean scowled. "I'd be lying if I said everybody liked him because he was a tough cookie, a bit gruff, you know? But I don't think I have met anyone who hated him. Sometime he would argue with some aggressive drunks at a bar or something but since he was a soldier he always managed to put them back in place."

"So he was well trained?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, headed for a tour overseas."

"So he would be able to overpower a person even if they had a gun?"

Dean shrugged. "I think so. I mean, he said that hand to hand combat was tricky with guns involved but I don't really understand all that stuff. Just what I see on the telly."

Novak nodded understandingly. "Very well," he sighed as he stood up, putting away his pen and closing the folder he had been writing in, "Thank you for the time, Mr Winchester, you may go."

Dean stood up as well. "That's all?"

Novak smiled a gummy grin at him, his neutral cop persona slipping. "Did you expect something more exciting? Some TV show drama perhaps?"

Dean chuckled. "I guess not."

The Lieutenant outstretched his hand. "Goodbye, Mr Winchester, I will perhaps see you again."

Dean found himself smiling softly after the man as he left. "Perhaps," he mouthed to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

"So, how did it go?" asked Hannah as Castiel watched Mr Winchester leave.

He turned to her. "He answered every question I asked him and seemed genuine about it."

Hannah nodded, stepping a bit closer. She had put on some sort of fruity perfume in the morning and it took a good chunk of Castiel's famous self-control not to cringe. "You think he had nothing to do with it?"

The Lieutenant shrugged. "It's too early to say for sure but I think he really is innocent," he said, opening up his folder a pulling out a piece of paper, giving it to Hannah, "Here, this is his brother's phone number. Call him and find out whether Mr Winchester has an alibi."

The brunette scrunched up her nose slightly, tilting her head upwards, so her face was close to Castiel's. "An alibi from his brother? That's not very believable."

The detective stepped away slightly, feeling overwhelmed by the smell of synthetic strawberries and watermelon. "Well, it is something at least," he told her before raising his eyebrow as he looked pointedly at the paper in Hanna's hand.

Hannah nodded, frowning a bit at the dismissal. "I'm on it, sir."

Castiel turned away from her just in time to watch Balthazar roll his eyes. Castiel tilted his head at him. "What?" he grunted.

"Nothing," said the officer with a fond smile.

Castiel shook his head slightly, frowning on the inside. He found himself in these situations a lot. Situation, where he was clueless as to some social interaction that had just happened and everyone around him just looked at him like you would look at a clumsy baby. All fond smiles and exasperated chuckles.

Thing was, when he saw a look pass in between suspects in one of his cases, he managed to almost always interpret it the right way - well, admittedly there was that one time that he mistook a look of hatred for a look of arousal but no one ever found out about that because he was clever enough not to share his observations at the time. However his capability while investigating murders was the main reason people made fun of him when he failed to understand something in his own social life.

Needless to say, he didn't have much of a social life.

Castiel decided not to dwell on it too much and headed for his office, the largest one in the department and being situated in the corner, it had only one glass wall that he could close the shades on, so he didn't feel like a fish in an aquarium.

He sat down behind his desk, opening his notes file again and looking into it. There was some personal info about Benny Lafitte that he had printed out that morning as well as the coroner's estimates he received sometime during the night. He had been promised a full report come today evening. Then there was the information he received from Benny's parents and his flatmate and some personal info about his brother Lennie who was their main suspect at the moment.

"Boss?" came Balthazar's voice from his doorway.

"What is it?"

"They found Lennie. They're bringing him in as we speak."

Castiel nodded. That was good. That was really good. He was well aware of the statistics saying that if you didn't find a good lea during the first forty-eight hours of investigation, the chances of solving the case drop spectacularly - by half. And true enough, majority of the cases he received, he managed to solve in the first two days of investigation, while the only two cases he had to let go cold dragged on for months.

"Good, bring him into Interrogation three."

Interrogation three had a different layout than the other three rooms, the main difference being the table was in the middle of the room and the hairs faced each other, making the room a lot less friendly.

Balthazar raised his eyebrow in amusement. "You gonna lay into him boss?"

"If that means that I will be interrogating him, then yes."

The officer grinned. "You're a funny fellow, boss. I meant if you were going to go hard on him."

Castiel smiled but shook his head. "Not particularly, no. But I don't want him to feel too comfortable here either. He is a suspect."

The other man came closer, leaning on Castiel's desk. "That pretty boy with eyelashes is also a suspect."

"Yes, of course. Your point?"

Balthazar just laughed and turned around to leave the office. "I'll tell you when they bring Lennie in."

"Thank you."

 

Half an hour later, after Balthazar told him Lennie was ready for him, Castiel opened the door to Interrogation three. There in the wooden chair reserved for suspects sat a short mousy-looking man with dirty blond hair and pale blue eyes. In short, he looked nothing like his brother and Castiel suddenly felt off kilter, reprimanding himself for not checking the guy's mug shot before coming in.

"Good afternoon, Mr Lafitte," he started with confidence that was entirely false but mostly believable, "I am Lieutenant Novak of Colorado Springs Homicide. First and foremost, I have to inform you that you are not under arrest, therefore you may leave the room whenever you want to. However, should you choose to do so, there are charges against you that we will not hesitate to press in order to interrogate you. I do therefore ask that you try to answer my questions. Do you understand?"

The drug dealer opposite of him shrugged. "Sure, just tell me what you think I did and we'll deal with it. This is not my first rodeo, you know?"

Castiel looked down where the summary of Lennie's criminal record lay printed out. "I am aware of that," he said before looking up again, "should I take it you don't know the reason you're here?"

"Let me guess, you think I killed someone. Since you're homicide and all."

Castiel decided not to dispute that. "I think it's entirely possible, yes."

"Lay it on me, man," said Lennie, the cocky smirk still plastered on his annoyingly freckled face.

Castiel looked his straight in the eye, watching for any sort of reaction when he said: "Your brother Benny had been murdered."

The reaction had been immediate. A hastily covered surprise and hurt. Castiel almost swore aloud, if Lennie isn't an Oskar winning actor, he hadn't known about his brother's death until Castiel told him.

"Benny's dead?"

"Yes. He was shot in the head on the night of twenty fourth. Can you inform me of your whereabouts that night?"

Lennie's face paled very similarly to how his step-mother's face had whitened that night. "My god."

"Did you and your brother have a good relationship?"

The drug dealer looked uncertain. "I, uhm, we didn't really get on but he was my brother, man. I wouldn't hurt him."

Castiel tilted his head. "Your parents said you told him he'd end up dead."

Lennie looked affronted. "Well he was bugging the hell out of me, so I had to say something. Doesn't mean I was serious. We always argued but when push came to shove we had each other's backs."

Castiel wrote down some gibberish just to make Lennie more nervous. "When was the last time you saw your brother?"

"That was about a week ago. We had a fight because he wouldn't get off my back about my job."

"Your job?"

"Yeah, you know, dealing."

Castiel had to stop for a moment to think about it. No wonder Benny was angry with his brother if Lennie called drug dealing his job. He couldn't imagine what he would do if Gabriel suddenly decided that baking cupcakes wasn't enough for him and that he was going to try his hand at a bit of drug cooking.

"And you haven't seen him since?" he asked after a pregnant pause.

"No."

"Do you know anyone who might have wanted to hurt him? Did he have any enemies?"

Lennie scrunched his eyebrows together in thought. "Nah, I think not. Benny was a good guy, you know? No problems, no enemies, nothing."

"What about you?" asked Castiel in a sudden moment of clarity, "Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might want to try and get back at you?"

The drug dealer leaned forward, crossing his arms in front of him on the table. "Well," he started hesitantly, "you won't arrest me for selling pot, right?"

Castiel nodded. "I am investigating a murder, Mr Lafitte, so while I don't particularly care for your business, I have bigger concerns."

Lennie looked appeased. "Ok, so there was this guy who wanted to buy some weed, right? He asked for a whole pound of the shit, so I grab the money and tell him I have to go and get it right? I never come back and a few days later I hear he's asking about me. So I went into hiding, didn't tell my family where I was, not that they care anyway."

Castiel was quickly jotting the information down. "So you owe him what, three or four thousand?"

Lennie nodded. "Yeah, three grand six hundred."

"And did you by any chance make a note of the man's name?"

Lennie shrugged. "Nah, but my mates on the streets call him Luke. They tell me hell's waiting for me or some shit."

Castiel wrote it all down. "Do you think it's possible this Luke went after your brother in order to get to you?"

Lennie shrugged again, his attitude coming back slowly. "I don't know, man. Don't know why he would though, Benny had no idea where I was."

"What did he look like?"

Lennie leaned back in his chair. "Short blond hair, big ears, some stubble, I think."

"Do you know how tall he was or what colour his eyes have?"

The drug dealer frowned. "Nah, he had been sitting in his car when we spoke and it was dark."

"What sort of car was it? Did you get the model or the plates?"

"Do I look like a police chief to you? It was some blue sedan car. Maybe Toyota?"

Castiel jotted the information in his folder before looking up again. "Anything else you can think of? Any other people you had sold down the river?"

"Don't think so. Can I go now?"

Castiel sighed as he stood up, outstretching his hand. "Of course, Mr Lafitte. Thank you for your cooperation."

The drug dealer ignored his hand, heading for the door. "Bye, man. Tell your buddies in drug department not to look for me."

Castiel didn't deem it necessary to answer that so he just dropped his hand and muttered a quiet 'goodbye' just to feel good about his manners.

After a moment, having picked up his folder again, he left the room, heading straight for the cluster of desks that belonged to uniformed officers belonging to his department. He turned to Uriel and Balthazar.

"I need you to organize a search for a man named _Luke_ , he had supposedly wanted to buy marihuana from Lennie but left without both the drug and his money."

Balthazar snorted. "An angry customer, huh?"

Uriel snagged the paper Castiel used to write the description of Luke on and quickly read it. "That's not too much info, boss."

Castiel sighed. "I know and truth be told, if he was the one to kill Benny, I don't expect you to be successful in finding him."

Balthazar turned up his nose. "Way to make us feel confident, Luey."

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't aware you needed me to butter you up in order to work efficiently. I thought the occasional deserved 'good job' was sufficient."

Balthazar saluted him playfully. "It is, sir. Thank you, sir. We'll get right on it, sir."

The Lieutenant had trouble keeping a straight face as he watched the two officers leave.

 

Meanwhile, Dean was sitting on a bench in Memorial Park, waiting for his friend Charlie to meet him. She had called him a few minutes after he left the station, crying because she has just found out about Benny, and angry because Dean wasn't the one to tell her. He managed to calm her down and get her to meet him.

Just as he was about to send her a text, asking where she was, he noticed her dragging her feet slowly towards him.

He stood up to greet her with a tight hug.

"Hey," she sighed softly against his ear before letting him go and sitting down on the bench he had just vacated.

"Hey," he said back.

"You all right?" asked the redheaded girl with a sad twitch of her mouth.

"I'll be fine," assured her Dean with a soft smile. No matter what, Charlie always managed to make him feel better with the simplest of looks. He had met her about a year ago in the local internet café, where he was looking up original Chevy Impala parts prices and she was hacking her former workplace's database. They started chatting, figured out they had similar interests movies and books-wise and exchanged numbers. After a slightly awkward conversation, during which Charlie admitted to being a lesbian and therefore harbouring no attraction towards Dean and Dean telling her that while he was bisexual, Charlie wasn't really his type when it came to romantic interests, they hit it off in a big style.

"So, how did it go at the police station? Was it anything like what we saw on NCIS? Did you meet a real-life Gibbs?"

Dean grinned. "Not really, the guy who was asking me questions was a bit gruff but otherwise kind of nice, so I wasn't scared completely shitless."

Charlie leaned into him nudging his side with her shoulder. "Was he hot?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Charlie, he thought I killed my friend. There's nothing hot about that."

His friend just grinned. "So he was hot."

"There's nothing I said that could give you that idea."

The redhead bit her lip. "If he wasn't hot, you would've said he wasn't hot. But you're evading the question."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Ok, so he was a bit hot. Nothing like Gibbs though."

Charlie grinned. "Was there a one-way mirror?"

Dean shook his head.

"Aww," pouted the girl, "that's a bummer. Well, what did you tell them?"

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "I answered all of his questions, so hopefully they won't call me again."

Charlie looked horrified. "You did what? Don't you know the rules of talking to the police?"

"What rules?"

Charlie took a deep breath before quoting: "While talking to the police, don't try to be helpful. Whatever you say will be used against you. Always."

Dean nudged her side with his elbow. "Where did you hear that?"

"I didn't hear it anywhere, silly, everybody knows that."

Dean laughed. "Ok, princess, let's find a stand with hot chocolate to warm up and then you'll tell me about that new comic book you've been singing praises about."

Charlie gave him a soft smile. "Ok."


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel was bent over the case files, reading the coroner's report he had received just a few minutes ago. There was nothing spectacular in it. The time of death didn't change, the cause of death had been evident from the beginning and the broken nose had been predicted by Balthazar.

The victim had a few defensive wounds on his hands but the medical examiner figured that for a man of Benny's stature and training, he didn't really defend himself.

Castiel made a note that the murderer didn't seem threatening to Benny who was very obviously unafraid at the time of his death. Then again, being a soldier there might not be many people in Springs that would frighten Benny. It could've been Dean Winchester, he supposed, since Benny would surely not suspect his flatmate of anything. Then again, Dean had an alibi as Hannah had informed him an hour ago, so he was out for the time being.

The investigation now concentrated on the man named Luke who could be literally anywhere in the city and might not even be the killer after all. Castiel however felt that he was on the right track with pursuing him.

He turned a page, looking at the photos from the crime scene. It was clear Benny hadn't been moved after he was shot, the trajectory of the bullet aligning correctly and putting the shooter about one metre from the living room window. Too bad none of the neighbours heard or saw anything.

Another page. The murderer didn't leave a trace in the flat, which was curious. There's always at least something. Then again, they might have just missed it. They were all in a bit of a Christmas cheer, especially Castiel. He should send someone to have a second look around.

He walked to his opened door - he always kept the door open, so nobody felt scared to come to him - and grunted at a passing detective: "Bring me Roche, please."

The detective nodded and went on his way without acknowledging him otherwise. Well, no one certainly seemed to fear him, he thought as he went to sit back behind his desk. He stated reading the file again, going over every single photo in hope he would find some sort of clue he hadn't found before.

"You called, boss?"

Castiel lifted his head to see Balthazar standing in his doorway. "Yes, thank you. How are you doing with the Luke thing?"

The officer grunted in discontentment.  "Not good, I'm afraid. I have ten people working the streets and four people checking in with their CIs. We keep coming up with nothing."

Castiel sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Anyway, I want someone - preferably you - to go to the victim's flat again and have another look around."

"You think we missed something?"

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at the officer. "No, Balthazar, I don't think that. I hope we missed something."

"Ah," came a sound of understanding in response, "I gotcha, boss."

"Thank you, please do call if you find something."

Balthazar again mock-saluted him and turned on his heel to leave. Castiel watched him go, remembering back to the day he first met the man. It was about five years ago in early spring when he was called to a crime scene. The victim had been underneath the ice in Prospect Lake the whole winter and when he finally resurfaced, he burst with putrid gases. Balthazar was the only officer at the scene not to lose their lunch and therefore the only one Castiel could talk to.

Soon, Castiel recognized the potential in the other man and after consulting him, he requested Balthazar's transfer to the Homicide department. For the past several years, he had been the officer Castiel relied on the most.

An hour and a dinner sandwich later, his phone rang and Balthazar's name appeared on the screen.

"Novak," he announced himself.

_"Hi, boss. You know how you wanted me to find something?"_

"Yes, that's why I set you to the flat in the first place. Did you find anything?"

 _"Well,"_ came the smug response, _"yes and no."_

"What does that mean?"

_"It means that while we haven't missed anything - which is by the way a very good police work - there is something. A certain Jo Harvelle has called the home phone at the flat and had some interesting information."_

"What sort of information?"

_"She was worried about her boyfriend Benny, because he had been kidnapped when he was spending Christmas with her and her family."_

Castiel stood up so quickly he almost tipped over his chair. "Kidnapped? And how are we only hearing about it now?"

He could almost hear Balthazar shrug. _"No idea, she said Benny told them he would take care of it and not to worry. I guess she listened to him and didn't worry."_

"For a whole two days?"

_"I guess. I told her someone would come to take her and her family's statement in the morning."_

Castiel nodded though Balthazar couldn't see that. "I'll do that. Thank you for going to the flat, I know you could have sent anyone else and they might not have picked up the phone. God knows when we would hear about the kidnapping then."

_"No problem, you know I would do anything for you. You once saved me from having to watch Titanic with my cousins, I'll be forever in your debt."_

Castiel rolled his eyes. "Bye, Balthazar. Go home and get some sleep."

He sat back down after hanging up and rubbed his eyes. He himself was tired as hell but he still had things to do at the office. Like making sure Hannah and Uriel went home, reading through the files one more time, possibly trying to find some information about the Harvelles while he was on it.

He powered up his laptop, typing in his password and opening up the Colorado criminal database. He tried searching for Jo Harvelle and came up empty. Not surprising really but still somehow disappointing.

He then typed Jo's name in a search engine along with the word Colorado. This spat out information about a hunter's bar called Roadhouse in Peyton, owned by Ellen Harvelle. He browsed the site for a while, reading through the reviews page and learning that Ellen has a daughter called Jo who is also a waitress and also a husband - or a young black lad she was shacking up with, according to one of the reviews - Rufus Turner.

Castiel then went back to the criminal database, writing in Rufus' name and yet again, coming up empty.

At last he typed in the name of the bar owner, feeling already resigned, but surprisingly got a hit. He clicked on the name, next to which was a photo of a fierce looking lady, and read the record.

Apparently, when Ellen Harvelle was twenty-three, her boyfriend at the time broke up with her over another girl. Ellen took her father's shotgun, went to the boy's house and started firing rounds into the air right on his front lawn.

Castiel couldn't help but grin at the report. He closed up the database and noted the address of Roadhouse before closing the browser window too. His eyes were already red with lack of sleep and his head felt heavy on his shoulders. He reckoned it was a good time to go home and get some sleep.

He packed his notebook, threw the case files into a drawer in his table and locked his office after himself. He covered his mouth as he yawned on his way downstairs, stopped to bid goodnight to the officer at the front desk in the lobby and headed towards his car.

Five minutes later, the Mustang was purring underneath him as he flew down the Messa Road towards his house. He pulled up in his driveway, noticing absentmindedly that all of his neighbours were already asleep, and unlocked his door.

Inside he disengaged his alarm, stepped over a pair of shoes he had left in the middle of the hallway when he was leaving for his Christmas visit with Gabe and went straight to his bedroom, not really bothering to undress or even brush his teeth. Evening hygiene be damned.

At half past eleven he fell asleep for the first time since dispatch called him.

 

Dean wasn't as lucky as to be sleeping, he was on the phone, listening to his brother whine.

_"What the hell did you do dude? I had a policewoman call me asking me if you were with us on the 24th between eleven and four at night."_

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Sammy,  know I should've called you but I didn't really know how to say it," he paused, "I still don't."

_"Say what?"_

Dean took a deep breath. "Benny's dead."

Sam went dead quiet for a minute before whispering: _"What? What the hell happened?"_

Dean sat down at the edge of his bed. "I have no idea, Sammy, he was shot in the head and I found him dead in our flat."

 _"Jesus,"_ a pause, _"are you all right?"_

Dean chuckled weakly. "I think I'm good. Just make sure to finish your degree soon, ok? I might need a lawyer."

He could imagine his little brother frowning. _"What do you mean? Do they suspect you?"_

"I don't know but they keep calling me to ask me questions."

_"Well, that's normal, Dean. They have to ask in order to figure out what happened. They didn't arrest you though, so I guess you're all right."_

"Yeah unless they're bidding their time."

Sam huffed. _"You didn't do it, Dean. They're not gonna arrest you."_

"Ok," agreed the mechanic, "if you say so."

_"I do. Just, hang in there ok? And if you need anything, call me."_

"I will."

_"Are you staying at Bobby's?"_

"Yeah."

_"Good, now just go to sleep and stop thinking about it, fine?"_

"Yeah."

Dean hug up with a heavy feeling in his chest. He had almost forgot about everything while he was chatting with Charlie but as soon as he came home, everything fell on him again. Benny was dead. His best friend was gone and Dean didn't know how to deal with it. He knew Benny would've helped him, he had experience losing mates in the army, but Benny wasn't there to help him.

It was a vicious cycle.

He lay down on his bed, folding his arms behind his back. He missed just talking to the man too. He would be the first one he would tell about the hot Lieutenant, so that Benny could tell him what a bad idea it was to try and start something with a homicide cop. Meanwhile Charlie had been more than supportive of his stupid crush.

The guy most likely wasn't even gay. With his stupidly deep voice and the way he didn't know how to properly dress, Dean's gaydar didn't let out even the slightest tinge.

Damned cop.

Damned case.

Damned murder.

Damned Benny.

Actually, yeah. Damn Benny for getting himself killed. Wasn't he supposed to be some badass soldier, ready for anything? So how could've some burglars get the better of him?

Dean grunted tiredly, his eyelids drooping. He had drained three glasses of Jim Beam before going to bed, so his head was a bit hazy. The last thought he had before falling asleep was the picture of Benny's head, a gaping bullet hole adorning his temple.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean got up way too early, scowling at his alarm clock as if it was its fault Dean's brain decided to wake him up at five o'clock in the morning. Dean hoped to wake up at half past six as was his usual habit on weekdays before dragging himself to work.

Admittedly, Bobby had told him to stay home but Dean felt itchy all over at the thought of having nothing to do whole day, so he just decided not to heed his uncle's warnings and started dressing for work. He pulled on the spare shirt he kept at Bobby's and having slept in the trousers from the day before - which were really the trousers he wore at Sam's - he borrowed some jean's from the older man's closet.

He looked a bit ridiculous but he figured it would do until he could either go back to his flat to grab some of his clothes or until he received his next salary and could buy some new stuff.

Bobby gave him an evil look when he saw him enter the garage.

"I thought I told you to stay home, boy."

Dean shrugged. "I'll be more of a use here than I would be lying on your couch."

Bobby narrowed his eyes at him. "I'll believe it when I see it. There's a car that needs an oil change on stand four."

Dean gave him a thankful smile. "I'm on it."

Dean went over to the 1960 red Škoda Felicia and went about changing the car's oil. The movements were pretty automatic after years of doing the same thing over and over again but Dean's brain still managed to run away from him. Several times he thought he heard Benny yell at him from cross the hall to move his ass or ask him if he was hungry.

It felt like he was going crazy but he remembered Bobby talking about the time after he had lost his wife and he had said he saw Karen everywhere he looked. He recognized in a movement of tsome woman's head or a hand gesture. He saw her haircut on every woman and heard her voice in every commercial. He explained that it was just his brain's way of trying to make sense of the loss he experienced.

In short, he was so used to the audiovisual input from that person that when it was suddenly missing, his brain tried to imitate it to fill in the gaping blank space.

He managed to finish the oil change in a record time of thirty minutes - the longest since he had been ten and changed the Impala's oil for the first time by himself.

He cleaned his hand on a nearby rug - which come to think of it wasn't his - and went to tell Bobby that the Felicia was done, when he walked past a large wall mirror and noticed what he was wearing. Or what he wasn't wearing. He had forgot to put on his blue overall and now both his shirt and Bobby's trousers were stained with oil.

Damn it all to hell, thought Dean.

When Bobby saw him, he raised his eyebrow.  "You done?"

"Yeah," muttered Dean sheepishly.

His boss nodded. "Ok, now go home and get some sleep, you're out of it."

"I'm fine, Bobby."

"No, Dean, you're not. I'm going t go and check on the Škoda to see if you haven't actually forgot to pour the oil in and you're going home. You're of no use to me like this."

Dean scowled but didn't argue. He realized that he screwed up and trying to reason with Bobby would be futile. Especially since Bobby was probably right and Dean needed rest.

He changed his shirt in the locker room, taking the two spare shirts he had stuffed in his locker with him, before leaving the Auto Shop and heading home. He supposed he could call Sam to talk for a while but he didn't want to ruin his holidays with Jessica just to whine to him about his dead friend.

He was almost halfway home when he stopped, noticing where he was going. He had went on an autopilot and ended up almost back at his flat. A flat that was currently police sealed and therefore inaccessible.

He turned around with a sigh and walked back to the Auto Shop, mounting the stairs at the back that led to Bobby's rooms. Once inside, he flopped on the couch, pulling out his phone and finding Sam's number in his contact list. His finger hovered over the name for a few seconds before Dean grunted and chucked the phone across the room, hearing the dull thunk as it landed on the carpet - stubbornly intact.

 

At the same time, Castiel found himself in Peyton, walking inside the Roadhouse. His eyes searched out the blonde woman behind the bar he recognized as Ellen Harvelle. He walked up to her, waiting as she poured a shot of something awfully green into some lad's glass.

She turned to him and noticing his disgusted look she leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially: "I know, it's disgusting but the college kids love it so where's the harm?"

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Is he even legal?"

Mrs Harvelle shrugged. "He is if you're a cop," she smirked.

Castiel pulled out his badge. "I am," he said calmly, "but I'm not interested in underage drinking."

Ellen took a step back, looking at him judgementally. "You're here about Benny." she stated.

"Yes. Is there anywhere we can talk?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah, come with me to the back. I'll call Jo and Rufus, it's really more of their story than mine."

Castiel followed her to a back room, sitting down where she pointed and waiting for the whole family to gather round. It took some time, since Mrs Harvelle had to find someone to man the bar for her, but in the end, they all sat down.

Castiel turned to Jo. "I understand that you were Benny's girlfriend."

The short blonde girl nodded. "Yeah. I mean, it wasn't serious but we really liked each other."

"And he spent the Christmas here with you?"

Again a nod. "Yes. His parents are bastards and-"

"Jo!" her mother admonished her.

"It's true mum! They're horrible people and didn't want him to visit over the hols, so I invited him here."

Castiel tilted his head then, leaning forward. "Very well now tell me what it is about the kidnapping."

Jo took a deep breath. "It was after dinner on the twenty fourth that his phone rang, she interrupted herself, handing Castiel an old Nokia, "this is his, he forgot it here when he left."

"Left where?"

Jo started again: "On the phone was a guy called Luke. He asked him if he knew where his shit of a brother Lennie was. Benny asked why he wanted to know that - not that he had an idea, mind you - and the guy said Lennie owed him a crapload of money."

Castiel wrote it down, omitting the curse words. "And then?"

"Benny asked to meet up with him, so they could settle things together. The guy agreed and Benny left."

"So you don't know what happened afterwards?"

At that point, Rufus spoke for the first time. "We do, Lieutenant. I went with him as a backup. Never trust drug dealers and their clients, right? We drove to a local car park to meet the guy."

Castiel interrupted: "Which car park?"

"Peyton middle-high, I doubt they have cameras though."

Castiel jotted it down anyway before motioning for Rufus to go on. "A second car arrived about five minutes after, two clowns in it." He noticed Castiel's look and went on to describe: "The car was a blue Toyota, Colorado plates. The driver, Luke, was maybe a bit shorter than you, had blond hair and blueish eyes. His ears were big and sticking out."

"And the second person?"

"Taller than you, maybe my an inch, brown short hair, long chin, short beard, his ears were even freakier looking than the blond's."

"Did you catch his name?"

"The driver called him Al. I have no idea what it stands for."

Castiel nodded as he made notice of all the detail. "What happened then?"

"The car pulled up about fifteen, twenty metres away from us and the driver, Luke, got out. Benny told me to stay in the car and went out to meet him. They talked for a while, arguing, but nothing too serious until the other clown got out of the car too, holding a gun," Rufus paused, running a frustrated hand across his face, "I didn't expect them to have a gun, I didn't bring one myself."

Ellen put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault."

"And whose fault is it? Some backup I was, not bringing a gun."

Castiel knew he had to diffuse the situation before someone started yelling, or worse, crying. "Mr Turner, please. What happened then?"

"I got out as well but I stayed by the car, not wanting to aggravate the situation further. The blond one seemed also a bit surprised when this Al character started waving the gun around and told Benny to get in the car."

"What kind of gun was it, could you tell?"

Rufus shrugged. "It wasn't a revolver but it was too dark to really tell. It was silver though, could've been a Beretta."

"And then?"

"Benny turned to me and said not to worry that he'd be fine and that he'd deal with it. I- uh, I let him get in that car and they drove off towards Springs."

"They didn't say where they were taking him?"

Rufus shook his head. "No. I should've asked. I should've done something but he was a soldier and he told me not to worry, so I let him go."

Castiel cleared his throat. "Do you think it's possible Benny underestimated his attackers?"

Rufus shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, the tall one didn't seem too secure in his hold on the gun but I'm not a soldier. God knows what was going through Benny's mind."

Castiel closed his notebook. "Anything else you can think of?"

Rufus closed his eyes for a moment and Castiel used the break in the conversation to look at the other two occupants of the room. Ellen had a grim expression on her face, holding Rufus' hand in one of hers and running the other one up and down her daughter's back. Jo was white in the face, pretending she wasn't crying.

"Benny kept saying something about giving Luke the money," Rufus said after a while, "I mean, he didn't really have the money so god knows what he was planning to do but he kept trying to tell the guy that he was gonna settle the debt."

Castiel finally stood up. "Thank you for your time, Mr Turner. Mrs Harvelle, Miss Harvelle," hi tipped his head and let himself be led to the door.

"I hope you find them," said Jo when he was about to leave, "I hope you find them and make them pay."

"I will try my best," replied Castiel, knowing it was the truth. He was going to try him best no matter if it took him ten years to hunt the murderers down.

He was now in no doubt as to who had killed Benny. It must've been the two kidnappers Luke and Al, it didn't matter which one of them actually pulled the trigger. They had brought Benny to his flat - after he must've given them the address - and shot him in cold blood. The soldier didn't even expect it to happen.

Truth is that if he had pegged them for amateurs - which they undoubtedly were since they left a breathing and talking witness behind - he figured he could take them in a fight if he needed to. He didn't expect them to shoot.

Castiel slid into his Ford, pulling out his phone. He dialled the station, getting Uriel on the line.

"Uriel," he said, "I want you to send two men to the Roadhouse. There is a possibility that the murderers come back to tie up loose ends."

_"Murderers?"_

"I'll explain when I come back. We have another man to look for."


	8. Chapter 8

Dean got antsy as he was staring at the phone he had thrown across the room so he decided to do something worthwhile for a change and go buy himself some clothes. He figured some small local shop would do since he only needed some jeans that fit him and a few T-shirts, so he threw on some of Bobby's trousers again and one of the shirts he found in his garage locker and stepped out.

He figured that while he was out he could also buy groceries because Bobby didn't seem to have much that wasn't either whiskey or coffee and so after he bought two pairs of dark jeans and some plain T-shits, he went to a corner store he usually shopped at.

He strolled down the aisles, picking up some frozen pizzas and instant noodles before dropping into the hygiene segment, picking up a 10 + 2 gratis pack of toilet paper and a tooth brush because he was tired of brushing his teeth with his finger.

He was just about to head towards the cash register when he almost smacked right into a person who was just turning the corner. The person dropped something on the floor in their alarm and Dean bent over to pick it up. "Sorry dude," he said as he grabbed the small packet off the floor before noticing who it was he had bumped into.

"Lieutenant Novak?" he asked, genuinely surprised to see him, "are you following me or something?"

The cop narrowed his eyes, seemingly in confusion. "Of course not, Mr Winchester, why would I do that? I was at your flat, searching through your friend's things."

"Ah," Dean made a sound of understanding. "Found anything?"

The detective shook his head with a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I haven't. I was searching for any mention of a man named Luke or a person called Al. You ever heard of them by any chance?"

Dean scowled in thought. "No. Is one of them the guy who killed Benny?"

"We believe so, yes."

Dean nodded before looking down at the packet he still held in his hand. It was a set of four glitter bee stickers. And seriously, what the hell? A cop buying glitter stickers? That was really weird. Then again, who was he to judge anyone while clutching an extra large pack of toilet paper?

He motions for the detective to precede him towards the cash register, selfishly hoping to see the cashier's face when he sees the bee stickers.

The face the Asian guy behind the register made was worth it. He scrunched up his face at the stickers before frowning at Novak as if he was trying to discern whether what he was seeing was real or a weed-infused hallucination.

"You for real man?" he asked the detective.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you were for real, like, are you really gonna buy this?"

Novak looked confused. "Why would I bring it to the cash register if I didn't want to buy it?"

The Asian kid shrugged. "Hey man, whatever floats your boat."

"What would ... float my boat," started hesitantly the cop, "would be if you managed to remember if you ever saw either one of these men," he finished, pulling out two black and white drawings.

The kid looked at the pictures, most likely too confused to even realize Novak was a cop. "Uh, I don't think so, they don't look like local."

Novak nodded, pocketing the pictures before pulling his wallet. "How much then?"

"Uh, two bucks."

The detective pulled out two Washingtons and slid them down the counter. "Thank you," he said as he pocketed the stickers and when Dean finally got to paying for his own stuff, he realized why the detective bought such a weird thing in the first place. He had wanted t strike up a conversation without having to introduce himself since most people balked at the thought of talking to a cop, no matter what he was asking.

As Dean left the shop he noticed Novak hadn't left. He walked up to him.

"Bee stickers? Really?" he asked with a small chuckle, not completely sure where he stood now that the police had a different suspect - or suspects, apparently.

The lieutenant smiled sheepishly. "You want them by any chance? I have about three sets of glittery stickers and a pack of pink and yellow hairpins I can offer you."

Dean laughed. "No thanks, that's all right. You can use them to decorate your interrogation rooms."

Novak's face went serious again at the mention of interrogation. "Thank you for your help, Mr Winchester, I have some more girly stickers to buy."

Dean watched him leave then, noticing the man stop beside a rubbish bin and throwing out the stuff he had bought - keeping his last purchase, curiously enough. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned his own involvement in the case since he was sure the Lieutenant had rules against fraternizing with suspects.

For a second there though, Dean had almost forgot about Benny and just enjoyed the tentative flirting. He sighed as he turned to go back home. Maybe after the case is closed, there would be a chance to get to know the detective better.

 

Castiel returned to the office in a bitter mood. His afternoon outing brought no clues whatsoever and the only highlight was meeting Dean Winchester briefly. The other man was interesting and he would make sure to talk to him when the case ended. Maybe they could even be friends one day.

The detective sat down behind his desk, opening the case file again and going though it for the hundredth time that day.

He opened his little notebook to check his notes from the days before, reading about the information Dean had given him on the day he found Benny dead. He nodded to himself as he mentally checked off one note after another, silently congratulating himself on remembering everything despite the fact he was drunk until he came upon the mention of the missing electronics.

"Well fuck," he swore loudly for the first time in five years - the last time being when he got shot in his thigh by a desperate drug dealer he had been trying to pump for information and blood started literally squirting out of his femoral artery.

Right now Castiel felt like bashing his head in with a hammer. He quickly got up and walked out of his office, calling for Hannah.

"What's wrong, boss?" asked the brunette, worry clear in her voice.

"I completely forgot about it. Here I have a list of things that were taken from Lafitte's flat. Take someone with you and go round local pawn shops to see if you can find anything on that list. Take Luke's and l's identikits with you as well and ask if anyone saw them while you're at it."

Hannah nodded vehemently. "Sure. I- I'll bring Morgan with me and we'll do it right away."

Castiel deflated slightly. "Thank you, Hannah, I really should've thought about it sooner."

The officer gave him a sweet smile. "Don't worry, we're all a bit out of it. It's Christmas after all."

"Yes well, Benny didn't get to have Christmas, did he?" he asked snidely, turning on his heel and going back to his office, shutting the door behind himself.

He flopped down onto his chair, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. He was stupid. How could he have forgot about the electronics? He had even had to wait for the MEs to take the body away until he could bring Dean upstairs to ask about the missing things.

He was never drinking again, that's for sure. No matter that he can hold his liquor like nobody else, it was a bad habit and he just wasn't going to imbibe anymore.

He sighed, trying to clear his head of all the negative thoughts, telling himself he had to focus on the case. He read through the verbatim of his interview with Lennie Lafitte and decided to check in with him.

He called the number the man had left with Hannah and let it right a few times. Just when he was about to give up, the phone was picked up.

_"Yeah?"_ came a grumbled response.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Mr Lafitte?"

_"Yeah?"_

"It's Lieutenant Novak of the Colorado Springs homicide speaking. I wanted to ask you whether the man you call Luke tried to contact you."

He heard scuffing noises from the other end of the line before Lennie spoke again. _"Yeah, no. It's been really quiet on that front."_

"On that front? Has anyone else contacted you?"

A harsh cough. _"Nah, just a few dealers I stole some shit from. Nothing major, I just have to keep low for a few days."_

Castiel managed not to roll his eyes. "Any of them call themselves by the nickname Al?"

_"Hey what the hell do you think this is? Call your gangster friend and ask twenty questions?"_ came the annoyed reply.

"You are hardly a gangster, Mr Lafitte. Do you know an Al or not?"

_"I know about fifty Als, man. Al Pacino, Al Gore, Al Capone, Al Damme ..."_

The last name sounded weird but Castiel could hardly be considered a specialist in movies and actors, so he let it slide. "And do any of these Als you know have any reason to hurt you?"

_"No they don't, now leave me alone,"_ came a quick answer and a loud click.

Castiel knew Lennie was hiding something from him but he reckoned it wasn't case related, so he let it go. If he heard anything about Lennie on the streets though, he was going to give a tip to the drug department. Cops had to help each other out after all.

Drained from the disaster of a day, he thought about what would make him feel better, his mind settling on his brother.

He picked up his personal phone, pressing the speed dial one button and listening to the phone ringing again.

Gabriel picked up faster than Lennie did.

_"Hey bro, what's up?"_ came the cheerful greeting from the phone and Castiel smiled.

"Hello, Gabriel. It's ... nice to hear you."

_"Aww, what's wrong Cassie?"_

The detective almost pouted. "I'm stupid and my witnesses are stupid and this whole case is stupid."

_"Wow, Cas, what's with all the whining? This doesn't sound like you."_

"I screwed up. I had been drunk when I arrived at the crime scene, you know that, and I forgot about something a witness told me. I only remembered now."

Gabriel tried to sound supportive: _"But you did remember, that's what's important."_

Castiel rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't actually remember, I read it in my notebook."

_"That doesn't matter. Cas listen,"_ Gabriel sounded suddenly more serious, _"this is not a real screw up. Causing someone's death is a screw up. Letting a murderer go is a screw up. Forgetting about one little detail and later remembering it is not a screw up. So lift your head up and don't worry. You'll figure it out Colombo."_

Cas raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Gabriel, I understand that reference," he said in a barely concealed excitement.

A guffaw of laughter came from the other end of the line. _"So you did. Good luck, Cassie."_

"Thank you, Gabriel. As annoying as you are, I'm glad to have you."

_"Don't get sappy with me, lieutenant. Get back to work."_

"Yes, sir," replied Castiel playfully, his mood considerably better.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning was hectic for Castiel. The news that they were looking for two men called Luke and Al along with their identikits finally seemed to make it to the general public and Castiel was left fending off phone calls from helpful citizens right and left.

Someone made the dumb decision to put his phone number at the bottom of the wanted posters and left Castiel swamped by calls from over initiative people who thought they knew something about his case.

He had an old woman calling, telling him one of the guys they were searching for was hiding in her basement but she wasn't able to specify which one of the criminals she had offered a refuge. Despite believing the old lady was lying, Castiel had to send a squad car to the address just to make sure. It turned out the only thing the woman had in her basement was an unprofessionally mummified cat.

Another crazy phone call carried the information that Benny had been killed by demons because he was a vampire. A claim Uriel commented on with his usual snark: "Did we check the guy for fangs?" which made Castiel tilt his head quizzically.

The rest of the calls were more normal, people claiming they saw one or both men somewhere in the city, but they were no more useful in terms of their investigation, the search for Luke and Al coming up empty.

Castiel was torn out of his thoughts by another ring.

He picked it up. "Lieutenant Novak of Colorado Springs homicide speaking."

"Hello, this is Mary Gaskoin, I'm calling about the men on your wanted posters?"

"Yes, ma'am, do you have any information?"

A hesitant silence and then: "Not really, I'm just calling to ask if they're dangerous?"

"Ma'am, did you read the poster?"

"Yes?"

"Then you must've noticed the line saying they were possibly armed and not to approach them?"

"Yes?"

Castiel almost lost his composure. "Then I believe it is save to infer they are dangerous."

"Oh," the lady paused, "and what did they do?"

Castiel broke. "Ma'am, this is not an information hotline, any and all information that you might need is written on those fliers. Now, unless you have any viable information for me, I have more important things to do."

He gave the woman a few seconds to say whatever she might want to say and when she didn't say anything, Castiel hung up.

He really needed to find out who it was that put his number on those bloody posters. He decided he would take a lunch break - despite not really being hungry - if only to forget his work phone on his desk by mistake and spend an hour without annoying callers.

He walked to a nearby diner and sat at a table near the back of the joint, so he could open the case file he carried out of the station underneath his trench coat.

 

Dean had gone to work again that day again, feeling a lot better than the day before an actually managing to get some work done at the garage. He was happy about it because he didn't want to disappoint Bobby but it also meant that he was tired by the time lunch break rolled around.

"Hey, Bobby! I'm gonna head out for lunch, ok?" he called across the garage at his boss.

"Yeah, run along," was the answer.

Dean grinned at his coworkers, shrugging out of his blue suit and grabbing his wallet before leaving the garage. He walked about half a mile to his favourite diner, finding out only when he tried to enter that the door was closed and a notice behind the glass said the joint was closed due to family reasons. Dean would've bet that family reasons meant Christmas celebrations but he had no one to bet against.

He pulled out his phone, sending a short message to Bobby:

_"be back l8r than expected, wendy's closed."_

He didn't receive a text back, which wasn't anything weird since Bobby was most likely in the middle of a job, but he still felt a slight pang of worry that something had happened to his self-proclaimed uncle.

Dean continued walking down the street, hoping to come upon another diner that served burgers at least half as juicy as Wendy's did. He quickly went past a pizza joint that spelled the word 'slices' like 'slises' and soon enough he ended up near the Memorial Park.

He remembered a good diner with Italian sausages and Italian-spiced burgers that he once went to but never really visited again because it was too far from his flat. Now though, Dean decided to give it a try again.

He entered through the heavy glass door, looking around the packed place for an empty seat. His eyes settled on a familiar face before he could find any though. In a back corner booth sat none other than Lieutenant Novak.

Dean weighed his options, trying to decide in between leaving and staying, pretending he didn't notice the man. Just when he was about to slink off again, the detective looked up - as if feeling eyes on himself - and their eyes met.

Dean smiled sheepishly as he hesitantly came over to the other man. "Hello, lieutenant," he said when he was close enough not to have to shout.

"Hello, Mr Winchester. How are you?"

"Uh, I'm good, thank you."

Novak looked around noticing how many people were in the diner for the first time. Moving aside his empty plate he motioned to the chair opposite of him. "Do you want to sit down?"

Dean tried not to smile. "Yeah, thank you."

Dean sits down, pulling the menu towards him to search out the burger he had the first time he was here, an Italian sausage and barbecue sauce burger with caramelized onions. He flagged down the waitress, giving her his order before turning to the man opposite him.

"So, how's the case going?" he asked slowly, not wanting to seem too interested in the answer as not to seem suspicious.

Novak glanced at the papers he had been reading before Dean interrupted him. "It's progressing," he said hesitantly, "we have two suspects but we haven't arrested them yet."

"Really? That's- that's good, right?" asked Dean when he saw the decidedly unexcited expression on the cop's face.

"We haven't found them yet. All we have is names and descriptions."

Dean made a sound of understanding. "I, uh, I hope you catch them soon."

"We will, Mr Winchester," said the cop with such a conviction that Dean couldn't help but believe him.

"So, what did you do with those bee stickers?" asked Dean after a beat of silence.

The detective tilted his head. "How did you know I kept them?"

Dean shrugged and not wanting to admit he saw the man shove them back into his trench coat after he tossed the rest out, Dean said with a smile: "I didn't but you just told me. So what did you do with them?"

"I put them on a lampshade in my office," was the grunted reply and Dean couldn't help but laugh. The other guy was hilarious without even trying to be so.

Novak narrowed his eyes at him, his mouth slacking slightly in what Dean recognized as attraction and Dean couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Making the stoic man opposite of him lose his composure a little was a great gratification for his efforts.

Dean wanted to say something else, flirting a bit more, but was interrupted by a waitress bringing him his order of burger and chips.

The lieutenant seemed to snap out of it at the disruption and he cleared his throat. "Well," he said, "I'm afraid that my lunch break is over. It was nice meeting you, Mr Winchester."

Dean watched him gather his things and stand up before shrugging into his beige coat. "Goodbye," said the detective and Dean nodded at him with a slight smile on his face.

 

Later that day, after work, Dean was sitting in his room at Bobby's, mulling over his day and his meeting with Lieutenant Novak. He felt strangely comfortable talking to the man - a surprising fat since Novak had suspected him of murdering his own friend for a while.

Dean remembered the way Novak smiled, his blue eyes shining and his gums showing. Then there was the look of arousal the other man gave him towards the end of their conversation and which made Dean feel very proud of himself. It was a long time since the last time he found himself flirting with anyone - ever since he left home and moved to Springs.

Dean found himself wondering what sort of person Novak was exactly, what would it be like to be in a relationship with him, what he looked like underneath all those suits he wore or how the dry lips would feel against his.

Dean flopped on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The detective seemed like such a gruff and serious person and yet while talking to Dean, he proved that he can smile, laugh even. Dean liked making people laugh, he always used to tell Benny stories about what he-

Well fuck, he completely forgot about Benny.

Dean felt a bubble rise in his throat, choking him. He slid off the bed to sit on the floor, dragging half of his duvet with himself. The pressure behind his eyes was starting to get too much and Dean knew he couldn't stave off the break down if he tried.

So he didn't try and just let go. Heavy broken sobs tore out of his throat, his vocal cords feeling like they were about to shred. Salty tears rolled down his face, Dean tried to brush them off at first but soon they were coming down so fast that he gave up.

The life power literally went out of him and Dean slumped into the side of the bad, really crying for the first time since he found Benny on the couch.

That was how Bobby found him some minutes later, the older man coming into his room when he didn't show for dinner.

"Oh boy, Dean," sighed his uncle, sitting next to him on the floor and patting his shoulder, "let it out."

"Bobby," croaked Dean before he broke into sobs again, shoving his face in his mentor's shirt.

"I know, son. I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, I'm soweee :)

A loud ringing noise filtered through into Castiel's consciousness, waking him up from un uncomfortable sleep. He lifted his head from where it had been lying on his desk, one paper from the coroner's report stuck to his cheek.

He slept at the office, he realized with annoyance. He hadn't done that in years. Not since the case of a dead three-year-old girl he had been investigating in 2009.

He picked up the receiver slowly, his movements sluggish with sleep.

"Hello?" he grunted instead of his usual answering formula.

 _"Lieutenant Novak?"_ came a tinny voice from the other side of the line, letting Castiel know that the other person was calling from an old police issued phone booth that was still to be found at old stations.

"Yes."

_"I am detective Guzowski from the Center Park Police Department and we have a guy here that says he has some information for you about a case you're working on."_

Castiel perked up. Someone who actually made their way to a police station to give information meant business and had to be really sure they have something worthwhile.

"Can you put him on the phone?"

 _"Yes sir, here..."_ there was a pause during which Castiel could hear shuffling noises before the phone was picked up again, _"Uh, Lieutenant?"_ came a gruff voice.

"Yes?"

_"You are investigating the Lafitte murder right?"_

"Yes."

_"I heard some butts talking on the weed corner by the park and one of them said he heard it was Lucifer who killed Benny."_

Castiel rolled his eyes. He should've expected that it would be just another ridiculous call. Now it's Satan killing his victims, next time it's going to be angels or werewolves or-

Wait. Lucifer could be Luke right?

"Anyone calls him Luke?" he asked.

 _"I guess,"_ came the bored reply, _"I don't really know anything, you know, but I figured that if it's the joker's real name, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out who it is."_

Indeed, thought Castiel. "Thank you, now if you would please give your name to detective Ga... uh, Galinski so that if we need to contact you again we can, uh, contact you?" Oh god, he was still half asleep.

The guy on the other end snorted. _"Yeah, I'll do that."_

Castiel nodded thought the guy couldn't see him and hung up. If he were a bit ore awake he would probably be embarrassed at how he handled the phone call - then again if he was more alert, he would be more professional.

Castiel sat at his desk for a few minutes before deciding that he wouldn't be able to do anything with the new information until he had at least one coffee in him.

He went to the kitchenette, noticing not many people were around, and made himself the strongest coffee he knew his heart could take. He poured himself a cup and brought it back to his office, draining it as quickly as possible.

He took a few deep breaths as he felt his heart thudding in his chest and powered up his notebook. He opened the police database for their area and started his search. How many Lucifers could live in Colorado Springs anyway?

The answer was three. The first Lucifer was old as hell itself, the second one was so fat he could pull the Mood out of its orbit and finally, the third one fit the description. Castiel read through the criminal record, noticing some petty thefts, some drink driving and one assault charge. There is no known address but there is contact information for Lucifer's uncle called Richard Roman.

Castiel grins internally, writing the address down on the search warrant form before checking his watch. It was five minutes past seven, meaning Crowley would already be in his office.

Fergus Crowley was a judge Castiel liked to use for signing search and arrest warrants because he usually didn't ask too many questions and was ready to sign based on eve the flimsiest of proofs. Then again, Castiel had to earn that by continuously proving himself to be a brilliant investigator. The fact that they had slept together once and managed to remain good friends probably didn't hurt either.

Castiel left his office, locking the door behind himself, and headed for the stairs. As he was passing the desk of one of the uniforms, the guy sitting behind it looked up with a cheeky grin. "What's with that heart attack in the kitchen, boss? You trying to kill us?"

Castiel quirked his lips slightly. "Did it work?"

A chuckle and then: "No, sorry boss. Better luck next time."

Castiel nodded, making a mental note to secretly find out the guy's name, since Castiel remembered him being very attentive and hard working at the Lafitte crime scene. He sometimes felt ashamed for not remembering the names of the officers that so often permuted in the Homicide department but he was more susceptible to how professional and how good they were rather than to how they introduced themselves.

Castiel excused it to himself by pretending that the names of the perpetrators and victims which he _had_ to remember took up too much space in his brain. That's also why he always readily forgot them once the case was over - it certainly wasn't because if he remembered the names and faces, they would haunt him at night, no.

Castiel knocked on the door labelled Judge Fergus Crowley, with a piece of paper the colour of the door stuck over the name 'Fergus'. It was an understatement Crowley hated his first name.

"Come in, kitten," came the call from the inside of the room.

Castiel grinned, the smile showing his gums, as he entered. "How did you know it was me?"

Crowley was sitting at his desk, elbows propped up and fingers intertwined under his chin. "I know everything, I thought we have already established that."

Castiel decided not to comment, though he would  bet his coffee cup Crowley has been calling everyone knocking at his door 'kitten' for the past week in expectation of Castiel coming. "I need a search warrant," he said instead.

Crowley sighed. "You want me to work? Really?"

The detective gave him pointed look. "It's just a signature, Crowley."

If it wasn't beneath him, the judge would've pouted. "All right, what for?"

Castiel gave him the search warrant form. "Richard Roman's house. He's the uncle of my main suspect."

"An uncle? That's the best you can do?"

Castiel shrugged, sitting down. It was going to be a longer visit. "It's the only address we have. Lucifer doesn't live anywhere according to our files."

"Which is bollocks."

"I know but it's the only thing I have."

Crowley sighed heavily - exaggerated if you asked Castiel - and looked over the form. "How sure are you this Lucifer guy is your murderer?"

Castiel thought about all the other possible Lukes out there. "About seventy percent?" he said hesitantly.

The judge frowned. "That's not enough for me, kitten, you know that. I need at least eighty-five if you don't have evidence."

Castiel racked his brain. "Will it help if I promise to be your wingman this weekend?"

They had the game worked out to perfection. Castiel always lured them in with his ruggedly good looks - Crowley's words, not his - then Crowley won them over by his quick wit. Castiel got usually rewarded for his input by a good bottle of bourbon once a month or so but he would settle for a warrant.

Crowley seemed to consider his offer. "How sure are you you'll find something illegal?"

"Well," he started, "if we don't find a murder weapon, there's is sure to be at least some weed, maybe something harder."

The judge sighed, quickly signing off the form. "You've got yourself a deal, angel."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this right here is the long-awaited chapter :)

Castiel knocked on the door in front of him, ignoring the chipped paint that stuck to his knuckles in favour of listening to any sounds coming from inside of the house. He watched from the corner of his eye as Uriel wiped his hand on his trousers, getting rid of the sweat that pooled in his palm, and hoped the man wasn't too nervous. They certainly didn't need any mistakes today. Castiel glanced quickly at Balthazar, who stood to his right. He seemed calmer than Uriel, his hands dry and his feet planted firmly on the ground.

A shuffling sound from the other side of the door made the three policemen tense - it was almost unnoticeable but they were tightly wound up and ready for action. The door then opened to a moderately handsome man in his forties.

"Yeah?" he grunted, obviously not happy to be interrupted.

Castiel cleared his throat. "Are you Mr Richard Roman?"

"Yeah?"

"Lieutenant Novak, this is officer Roth and officer Roche," said the detective, showing the man his badge and motioning to his colleagues, "may we come in?"

Mr Roman seemed very hesitant but in the end he let them in without Castiel having to serve the search warrant. They all piled into the living room and stood in a semi circle. Castiel looked around, noticing the shelves full of paperback books, plastic covered couch cushions and the peeling walls. Behind Roman there was an archway to a small kitchen and to Castiel's right there was a hallway with three closed doors.

"So what can I help you with fellas?" asked Roman.

Castiel's jaw involuntarily tightened. "We are here to inquire after your nephew Lucifer. Is he here?"

Richard Roman sighed, shaking his head. "I haven't seen him in weeks. What's he done now?"

Castiel heard a disbelieving huff from behind him, Uriel clearly not buying it. The lieutenant asked anyway: "We only wish to speak with him, do you know where we could find him?"

Roman fidgeted. "No, I'm afraid I can't help you."

Castiel noticed the man's eyes shifting to the left, in the direction of the hallway. "Is there anyone else in the house with you?"

Dick's eyes shifted again. "Nah, I'm as alone as a daisy."

Castiel decided not to comment on the weird simile, discarding it as wrongly formulated, and immediately  drew his gun. "Stay with him, Roth," he told the black officer standing to his left, "Roche and I will check the hallway."

"There's no one in there, officers," tried Roman again but his shoulders had a defeated slump to them, telling Castiel all he needed to know.

The two cops went slowly down the hallway, looking into each room carefully, guns drawn and ready. About seven feet away from the room at the very end of the passage Castiel heard a soft thump. He motioned for Roche to back him up and quickly but silently opened the door.

There in the room, was a wimpy bearded man, shoving a ball of clothing into a backpack. As soon as he saw Castiel, he moved towards the window, clearly intending to jump out.

Castiel motioned with his gun. "Uh uh."

The guy analyzed the situation correctly, dropped his bag and raised his hands in surrender. "Ok, man. Not going anywhere," he said in an annoying voice.

Castiel nodded. "No, you're not. Who are you?"

"I'm Alastair Kramny," he squeaked out.

Roche smirked, "otherwise known as Al?" he asked, mentally comparing the man in front of him with the mysterious Al's description.

"Yeah?" Al said hesitantly.

"Great," said Balthazar, "you're coming with us, mate."

Al gave them a sneer but went willingly enough and soon both he and Richard Roman were on their way downtown.

Back at the police station, Castiel sat down with Roman who he guessed would break more easily, while Balthazar had his chance to prove himself in interrogation three with Alastair.  
  
Castiel turned on the recording device that sat in the middle of the table and started talking: "This is Lieutenant Novak interviewing witness Richard Roman in the Lafitte case.  
  
"Mr Roman, you have been taken for questioning as a witness in the case Benny Lafitte's murder, do you understand?"  
  
Roman nodded his head, looking defeated.  
  
"I will need a verbal acknowledgement," said Castiel calmly.  
  
"I understand."  
  
"Good. Now, can you tell me what is your relationship with Mr Alistair Kramny who we found at your house this afternoon?"

Dick scrunched up his eyebrows. "What in the world do you mean? We don't have a relationship!"  
  
Castiel bit the inside of his mouth discreetly to stop his mouth twitching into a smile. "Let me rephrase that, sir, how do you know Alistair Kramny?"  
  
"Well, he is a friend of my nephew. He came to spend Christmas with us this year."  
  
"Your nephew Luke, right?" asked Castiel, writing down some gibberish to make Roman a bit more nervous.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"And where is he right now?" Castiel used the same calm tone, the same blank face and while Roman shrugged in response to his question as if he couldn't care less, Castiel could see that the interrogation room environment was taking its toll.  
  
"I need a verbal response, Mr Roman."  
  
Roman shrugged again, irritated. "How should I know? I'm not his keeper."  
  
"You are his uncle though. Has he not told you where he was going?"  
  
"Look, officer," said Roman in an effort to ascertain some sort of upper hand, "he doesn't tell me anything."  
  
Castiel leaned forward, making sure not to look aggressive yet. "Doesn't he?"  
  
A drop of sweat formed on Roman's forehead, near the hairline, and slid down to his brow. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Castiel could see Roman was getting offended and dangerously close to clamming up, so he eased up. "Alright. Have you ever met or seen Benny Lafitte?"  
  
"No." An immediate response but not too fast to indicate a lie. Huh.  
  
"But you have heard the name before this interview?"  
  
Roman shrugged, looking more sure of himself. "Sure, it's all over the city that someone bumped him off." An insensitive response, the subject trying to distance himself from the crime.  
  
"But you have heard the name before then too?" An intentionally misleading question, a positive where you would be expecting a negative.  
  
"No, I haven't." Roman hasn't been caught.  
  
"And where have you been the night of the murder?"  
  
"When was that? Remind me?" Another dodge.  
  
"The night between 24th and 25th. Monday night."  
  
Roman nodded, thinking ostentatiously. "I was at home, sleeping."  
  
The almost sarcastic answer made Castiel even more sure that Roman knew something - if not everything - about the crime but he couldn't be sure if he had been at the scene of it. The lieutenant decided to take a gamble.  
  
"Mr Roman, is there any reason you can think of why one of Mr Lafitte's neighbours would say they saw your car at the scene of murder Monday night? I'm not accusing you of anything, I suppose you could've just been in the neighbourhood on a late night errand."  
  
The theory behind a suggestive question like this is that an innocent party wouldn't have to think about anything and just repeat they stayed at home the whole night. A guilty person has to think before answering because they have to take into consideration that the interrogator is not bluffing and that someone actually saw them, which results in a delayed response or an actual confession that they went out.  
  
Roman paused. For a long three seconds, which was outrageous. And conclusive by itself.  
  
"You know what?" said Roman, pointing his finger at Castiel, "did you say Monday? I think I might have gone to buy myself a bottle of booze."  
  
"Do you remember at what shop?"  
  
"Uh... I don't think so. I mean, it was pretty late and everything."  
  
Castiel knew he had him. "I have noticed something interesting today, Mr Roman. There is a 24/7 liquor store about four hundred metres away from your house."  
  
Roman was now undoubtedly sweating.  
  
"Mr Roman," began Castiel quietly, leaning forward with a friendly expression on his face, "you are an intelligent person. You must know that it's going to be a lot easier for you to admit what you know now rather than waiting for us to figure it out."  
  
"Fine," sighed Roman, "I'll tell you what I know."  
  
The lieutenant nodded, leaning back into his chair to give the suspect some space to spin his tale.  
  
"I didn't do it," was the beginning, "it was the boys."  
  
"Luke and Alistair."  
  
"Yes. They kidnapped the kid, I think it was because he owed Luke, wait...  his brother owed Luke and Alistair said he was going to help him get the money."  
  
Roman paused, so Castiel felt save to ask: "Do you know what was the plan?"  
  
"I think it was just to scare the boy. They didn't talk about no kidnapping or shooting when they were leaving the house."  
  
"What happened then?"  
  
"They took him to his flat and they talked about what he was going to sell to make up for the debt. I think Alistair panicked or something and shot the guy then. They ran away, came to me and told me everything."  
  
Another pause. "What did you do then?"  
  
"I cleaned the gun and drove them back to the flat. I told them to bring anything they might have touched. The two idiots came back with a bunch of electronics because they thought they could keep it."  
  
Castiel prepared his pen. "What _did_ you do with it?"  
  
"We dumped it at a bunch of those charity dumpster things along the way, I don't remember exactly."  
  
Castiel wrote that down before looking up. "And then?"  
  
"Then we came back home and when I woke up the next day, Luke was gone. I think he fled the city, if not the state."  
  
"So you don't know where he is?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And the gun? Where did you put it?"  
  
"It's at home, underneath the couch cushions."  
  
Castiel noted that down as well before leaving the room. It was time to tell Balthazar what he found out, so that he had something to use in his own interrogation of Alistair. Castiel expected the young man to throw his friend underneath the bus as soon as he figures out Dick snitched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to mention that while some of Castiel's interrogation of Dick does have a basis in actual interrogation techniques, it is very simplified and shortened for the purpose of the story. Just thought I'd make that clear :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... you can stop throwing stones at me. I know it's been forever.  
> No excuses, no regrets though, right? :)

After informing Balthazar of the developments, leaving him to fend for himself for a while, Castiel went to his office to call a BOLO for Lucifer. Then he sent out two units - one to search Dick's house, using the search warrant they hadn't really used before, the other to search any charity donation bins on the way from the victim's flat to Roman's house. He then went to Crowley's office again.  
  
The judge greeted him with a hesitant smile. "Did you have luck?"  
  
Castiel sat down, putting on a cocky smirk. "You can issue three arrest warrants, Fergus, Roman talked."  
  
"Really? You broke him?"  
  
Castiel shook his head. "Not really, he was crumbling before we even began. He admitted to being an accessory, saying Alistair was our shooter with Lucifer as an accomplice."  
  
"And you believe him?"  
  
"Yeah, he folded like a house of cards."  
  
Crowley nodded but was still frowning. "You have any proof?"  
  
"I sent out people to get it. We'll have the gun, though without fingerprints - we'll have to hope Roman forgot to wipe the prints off of the magazine or the bullets. Then we should find the electronics missing from Lafitte's flat - and there's no way they managed to wipe all the prints off of those."  
  
"And how sure are you you'll get all that?" asked Crowley sceptically.  
  
"About ninety percent for the gun, eighty to eighty five percent for the other things."  
  
He received raised eyebrows for his effort. "That's good, are you sure you're not pulling my leg? Shouldn't we wait for your people to actually find the evidence?"  
  
Castiel knew he wouldn't win that round, so he backtracked a little: "Alright, what about you draw up the arrest warrants but sign them only after I give you the evidence needed?"  
  
Crowley immediately looked more happy. "You do that, kitten," he said with a lewd wink.  
  
Castiel bit his lip, not knowing whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "I'll go about my business then," he said before leaving the office. He walked slowly back to the bullpen, purposefully wasting his time because he knew that once he arrived at his office he'd have to get started up on paperwork. Writing reports was his least favourite part of the job - which was unfortunate since as a lieutenant he had to do a lot of it.

He came to a slow stop in the middle of the large room, putting his hands on his waist and tilting his head slightly, a posture that every cop that ever worked with him knew meant bad news.

"Something happened?" asked one of the newbies nervously, as if he was scared he screwed something up.

Castiel sighed. "No, everything's going well, thank you."

"Then what's the bad news?" asked Uriel, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"There will be a lull in the investigation for most of you now," he started slowly, hoping someone would figure it out before he actually had to say it, "because now we're just tying up loose ends."

"Lucifer?" came Balthazar's voice from behind him. The detective has apparently finished his little powwow with Alistair and was anxious to hear Castiel's instructions.

The Lieutenant nodded. "He's one of them, yes," he said before turning back to the rest of the room: "Well, I'll just say it then-"

"Noo!" came a loud whine from somewhere in the huddle of cops, "don't say it, sir! Please."

Castiel fought the urge to smile, deciding to let a slight smirk grace his face instead. "I'm sorry, I have to. It's paperwork time for the lot of you, I'm afraid."

This time the whine was a lot more loud as it came from the whole bullpen, followed by a few expletives, some of which almost made Cas blush.

"Get to it, people," he said a bit more forcefully, "until we find Lucifer, there's nothing for you to do. The team collecting the evidence at Roman's house will have to write their own reports after they return too. You have my permission to tell them that."

His words were met with a few chuckles but people started moving towards their stations, powering up their computers. Soon enough everyone was at work. Castiel decided that his work there was done and turned to head to his office to slave over his own paperwork. He noticed Balthazar still standing where he had been moment before, unmoving.

"You too, Balthazar," Cas told him with a pointedly raised eyebrow.

The other man released a long sigh. "Don't get me wrong, sir, I love you almost like I'd love my father if he was an actual decent human being," he said, "but I really don't like you right now."

Castiel tried not to roll is eyes and was painfully unsuccessful. "We go over this every single case we have, Roche, the paperwork is necessary-"

"I know, I know, court files, archived reports, databases... you gave me this lecture before, sir."

"And it seems it still didn't stick," he said, getting slightly irritated.

Balthazar must've noticed too because he suddenly straightened his posture and lowered his eyes to Castiel's shoes. "I apologize, sir. I'm right on those reports."

The lieutenant nodded. "Good," he said, glad he still had some respect, before finally walking over to his office and sitting down behind his desk.

It took him almost three hours to finish everything he wanted, being almost the last one to leave the bullpen when he finally headed home. Once there, he slumped onto his couch, loosening his tie with a heavy sigh and looking around his darkened house. Rubbing at his tired eyes, he pulled out his phone, checking for messages. There was nothing of any importance, so Castiel deleted some spam mail before deciding to text his brother. Gabriel was always interested in his cases, so it wouldn't hurt to tell him what happened.

'Found the murderers.' he typed in and pressed _send_.

He contemplated sending a text to Dean Winchester too but in the end decided against it. It was already late into the evening and he didn't want to disturb the man. Also, if he called him the next day in the morning, he could invite him to breakfast as it was Sunday and he didn't expect to have to go to work.

Castiel heaved himself off the couch, undressing on his way to his bedroom, where he crawled into his bed. He would shower in the morning.

 

The next day, his alarm clock woke him at six in the morning as Castiel had forgot to turn it off the day before. Well, at least he had time to take a long shower before he called Winchester. He spent the next forty minutes tending to his personal hygiene, even going as far as to try and do something with his hair. He gave it up in the end but he had tried.

Then he dialled the auto mechanic's number.

"Winchester," came a gravelly voice after the phone was picked up.

"Good morning, Mr Winchester," said Castiel, "Lieutenant Novak here.  I am calling to inform you that we have found the murderer of your friend."

A startled breath was heard on the other side of the line. "Really? Was it the Lucas dude you mentioned on Thursday at the store?"

"Luke, yes. Short for Lucifer apparently."

A disbelieving chuckle. "You're kidding."

Castiel smiled tentatively. "I'm afraid not."

"And do you-" a cough, "do you know why he did it? You know, what happened?"

Castiel decided to bite the bullet. "If you want to discuss it further, Mr Winchester, I am willing to meet up with you. We can talk over breakfast perhaps?"

"Really? I mean sure, I'd like that. Where and when?"

"You know the Over Easy on Tejon?" he asked.

"Sure, yeah."

"We can meet there in an hour?"

He heard some shuffling and for the first time he realized he had woken the other man up and was talking to him while he was still in bed. Most likely in his pyjamas or whatever he was used to sleep in. Curious.

"I'll be there."

Castiel nodded. "Good, I will see you then."

 

Dean hung up and stared at his phone in confusion. Did that really just happen? Did Novak really just invite him to eat breakfast? Was he even allowed to do that? Dean sighed as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Well, that had been embarrassing.

He pulled himself out of bed, padding across the hall to the bathroom. He showered quickly, dressed in clean clothes and brushed his teeth. When he finally made it downstairs, Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the papers.

"Want some?" the older man rumbled without raising his eyes from the sports section.

"Nah, thanks," said Dean, "I'm going out for breakfast."

This made Bobby look at him. "You are?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, uh... the detective investigating Benny's death called me half an hour ago. Said they caught the murderer and that he was... uh, willing to meet me to talk over it."

Bobby raised his eyebrows.

"It's nothing, Bobby, I just wanna find out what happened."

"And you have to find out over breakfast?"

Dean shrugged again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "He's kinda hot?" he said uncertainly.

Bobby snorted. "Good grief, boy."

"I know! I know, ok? But he's decent and I really wanna find out what happened."

The older man shook his head and returned his eyes back to the papers. "Well scarper then, Dean. Go have your breakfast."

Dean grinned and went to grab his jacket. "Bye, Bobby," he called as he was leaving the house, getting a snort in response.

Fifteen minutes later found him entering the diner on Tejon, eyes sweeping over the place as he looked for the blue eyed man. He found him sitting to the left side of the joint, dressed in black jeans and a ridiculous-looking blue Christmas jumper, which upon closer inspection turned out to be a Doctor Who Christmas jumper. Cool.

"Hey," he said as he walked up to the table, "you waiting long?"

The Lieutenant blinked at him. "Good morning," he said, "I've arrived seven minutes ago, I believe that is considered an acceptable time to wait."

Dean stared. "Oh-kay," he said slowly.

Novak tilted his head. "I apologize, Mr Winchester, my people skills are a bit rusty, I'm afraid. Please, do sit down."

Dean grinned. "That's all right, you're good-looking enough to get away with it," he said, immediately regretting it. Did he really have to come onto the man so strongly?

Novak didn't seem offended though. "Thank you, Mr Winchester."

"Dean. You can call me Dean."

The other man smiled lightly. "Dean. You can call me Castiel then."

"Castiel? That's a bit of a mouthful," he said, trying to make it sound as innocent as possible.

"You are welcome to call me something else, if you want. Though I would rather not be called _Cassie_ , my brother has put me off the nickname."

Dean pressed his tongue in his cheek. "Would _Cas_ be all right?"

Castiel nodded. "That would be nice," he said but as he was about to continue, a waitress interrupted them.

"Hello, my name is Linda. Are you ready to order?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at Cas in question and when the other man nodded, Dean gave the girl a smile. "Sure, I'll have a cup of coffee and a plate of blueberry pancakes."

"Uhuh, and you?" she turned to the detective.

"I'll have coffee as well and I'd like Eggs Benedict."

"The classic?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes, thank you."

"I'll be right back then." she grinned at them before almost skipping back over to the counter.

"Well, she's cheerful," commented Dean.

"She is perhaps looking forward to tomorrow."

Dean was confused for a second. "What's tomorrow?"

"The New Year's Eve," said the detective, making Dean feel like an idiot.

"Right. I forgot. Uh, so you wanted to tell me about this Lucifer fella, right?" he changed the subject.

Cas leaned forward. "Yeas, of course. Let me tell you what I can."


	13. Chapter 13

"So they didn't even have beef with Benny but with his brother?" asked Dean after Cas finished recounting what he could tell him, "That's fucked up."

The cop nodded his head slowly. "Every murder is ehm... wrong, no matter the reason."

Dean shrugged. "Well, sure but if a drug dealer dies, it's not as horrible as when a good person like Benny does."

Castiel pressed his lips together in an apparent irritation. "I don't like to think about it like that, Dean. In fact, I can't. A murder is a murder and it's bad no matter who is the victim."

Dean closed his mouth, biting back an instinctive response. Well, he's really stepped into it, hasn't he? Telling a police detective that you didn't think some murders are as bad as others is probably not going to win you any points. "Sorry," he muttered.

Castiel let out a slow breath. "That's all right, Dean," he said calmly, "I understand what you mean, I really do. There _are_ some detectives out there who think the same way you do, and as long as it doesn't influence their work, there's nothing wrong with that. However, I personally try to emotionally cut myself off from my cases. It wouldn't do to get sidetracked by sympathy - or lack thereof - and mess up."

Dean nodded his head sheepishly. "I get it, now I just feel like a right prat," he said with a self-deprecating grin.

Castiel shook his head at him. "Don't, it's understandable. Especially in the light of what has happened to you. Your friend really didn't deserve to be robbed of his life because of something his brother did."

Dean nodded resolutely. "Damn right he didn't, Benny was the good kind you know?"

Castiel smiled slightly. "Yes, I suppose he was."

"It was that that cost him his life though, he should've never agreed to meet with guys that shady," admitted Dean, "I guess he thought he could take them on though."

Castiel touched his hand lightly where it rested on the table. "I can assure you that he would've been able to 'take them on', Dean. He wasn't really behaving as recklessly as it might seem, he thought they wouldn't shoot. And technically, he was right, they didn't intend to shoot that night."

"What good does that do us now though?"

"I'm sorry for your loss, Dean. I don't know if I've already said it."

Dean smiled at him. "And you are a lot nicer when you don't think I have murdered my best friend, I don't know if I've already said it."

Castiel gave him a toothy grin. "I never thought you were guilty, Dean."

"Oh really? That interrogation seemed pretty scary to me."

The cop shook his head. "That wasn't an interrogation, that was an interview. I needed to get information out of you, not a confession. I mean no offence to you but I can't imagine how you would hold up in a real interrogation, it's more abrasive, intrusive and often underhanded."

"Yes, detective, you know a lot of pretty words. Now explain it to me, what exactly is the difference?"

Castiel leaned forward a bit as if he was about to disclose some sort of secret. "In simple words? In an interview, the object is to gain information that the subject is willing to disclose but might be unaware he possesses. In an interrogation, you try to obtain information that the subject wishes to conceal. Consequently, the methods used also differ."

Dean stared at the detective. "Do you always sound like a dictionary? That was probably the most eloquent I have ever heard anyone talk," he said and immediately continued as he noticed Castiel make a face: " and no, it has nothing to do with me being a mechanic."

Castiel looked almost offended. "I wasn't about to say anything like that. I have the utmost respect for any working man. I was more concerned with whether your comment was supposed to be a compliment or not."

"Oh," Dean almost blushed, "sorry. I didn't mean to get all defensive, I'm not insecure about my job or anything, it's just that I hear those kind of comments a lot from fancy paper pushers."

Castiel grinned at him, accepting his apology. "Well, I'm definitely not a fancy paper pusher, though some days I seem to spend buried in paperwork anyway. Still, you haven't answered my question, was it a compliment?" he said this in a serious voice but Dean could see the humour glittering in his blue eyes.

"I guess," he said with a teasing smile, "some people do have a professor kink and you fit right up that alley."

"A professor kink? What in the world is that?"

Dean laughed at the cop's confusion. "You know, people having the hots for the eloquent and studious types. You kind of fit into all that with your clothes too, I mean seriously, what's with the flasher's coat?"

Castiel looked like he wanted to roll his eyes but didn't actually do it. "I have heard that before," he said instead, "and I assure you it is a perfectly practical attire. It shields from rain, it has a lot of pockets for my necessities and you would never be able to tell that I carry a gun underneath."

Dean's eyebrows rose up on his forehead. "You have a gun? I mean, right now?"

The detective shook his head with an almost fond expression on his face. "Of course not, why would I bring a gun to have breakfast with you? I do have a knife with me though, I always carry something to protect myself."

"Oh, that's great. I have to admit I don't know what I would do if anyone attacked me. I mean, I'd like to think I would be able to fend them off or something but I guess you never know until you experience it."

Castiel nodded, a sombre expression on his face. "That's true, though it always helps if you're prepared for any situation. Have you ever had any self defence lessons?"

Dean thought back to his school days. "Maybe some basics at school? I don't really remember."

The detective gave him a smile. "Then maybe you should brush up on those skills. I can recommend a martial arts school, if you wanted. Or I could perhaps teach you myself?"

Dean's brain immediately came up with a picture of Castiel dressed in sweats and a tight fitting T-shirt, hair tousled from exercise and clean sweat dripping down his temples. Dean himself was standing next to the cop, pressing against him and running his hands through dark hair. "I'd really like that," he said quickly, determined to see his fantasy come to life.

"Wonderful," said Cas but before he could continue, their waitress stepped up to their table and started clearing the dirty dishes from their breakfast.

"Thank you," Cas told her, "it was delicious."

She grinned at him and Dean was sure he wasn't imagining the flirtatious tone in her voice when she said: "I'll make sure to tell the cook you were satisfied."

It took all of his self control not to scowl at the girl. "We'd like the bill, please," he said instead.

She nodded and left, while Castiel looked at him curiously.

"You do realize that I'm paying since I was the one to invite you?" the detective told him.

Dean shook his head. "No, that's all right, I'm capable of paying for my own breakfast."

The older man's voice was calm but firm. "I know that, Dean, but as I was the one to take you out, I will also be the one to settle the bill. I promise that if you ever invite me anywhere, you can pay for our outing."

Dean nodded sheepishly. "Okay."

The girl came back with the bill, putting it in front of Dean. "It's 23.35," she told him.

Cas leaned over and quickly snatched the piece of paper  from in front of him, looking fleetingly at the sum before giving the waitress a twenty and a tenner. "You can keep the change."

She smiled at him. "Oh thank you, sir."

"Pleasure."

Dean cleared his throat as he watched the girl walk away. "So, Cas. Ehm, when do you think I could go back to my flat then?" he asked him if only to change the topic of conversation.

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "The cleaning service will stop by on Tuesday, I believe. I'll call you when they're ready to release the flat."

Dean matched Castiel's eyebrow game with a furrow of his own before raising him an astonished lift of his left eyebrow. "On Tuesday? Does it usually take this long?"

The detective nodded. "I'm afraid so. The service is very busy and logically, crimes in public places take priority. There was a large car crash on the twenty-five two days ago that took all of their resources to clean up from what I've heard."

"That must be a horrible job to do," mused Dean aloud, "I mean, imagine seeing all that blood and gore every day. They must be very depressed and pessimistic sour people."

Castiel just stared at him.

"Oh," Dean 's face took on a ridiculous shade of red when he realized what he had just said, "I'm so sorry. This always happens to me, when I like someone I stick my foot in my mouth every chance I get. I didn't mean to imply that you are depressed or pessimistic or, you know, sour."

The cop tilted his head to the right. "Curiously enough, some of the cleaning service people are very curious characters. I suppose you would have to be in order to enjoy your job. For what it's worth, while I don't mind seeing a little blood, I don't enjoy it either."

Dean bit his lip, still feeling embarrassed. "I know, I'm really sorry."

"It's all right. I do find your honesty refreshing, Dean. You can imagine I don't encounter it very often, people enjoy lying to me."

Dean grinned. "Well, you are a cop, what did you expect?"

"That there would be more respectable people like yourself?"

And let the ground swallow him if Dean didn't blush.

The amiable quiet that followed Castiel's compliment seemed like a good moment to grab their things and leave the diner, so they slowly got up and headed towards the door.

"So, you want to meet up again? Maybe? Sometime?" Dean asked nervously once they stood outside, not really sure what he was doing.

Castiel nodded his shaggy head. "I would really like that, Dean. How does tomorrow grab you?"

Dean almost burst out laughing but managed to keep it down to a polite chuckle. "It grabs me just fine, Cas. What did you have in mind?"

Castiel gave him a toothy grin. "I'll leave that up to you. This time you're taking me out."

"In that case, prepare yourself for a treat," said Dean cockily, while in reality he wasn't at all sure what to do. Well, he'll come up with something.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean was enjoying his morning coffee, sipping slowly at the hot brew, when his phone chirped somewhere in the living room. He sighed heavily and heaved himself out of the kitchen chair to go in search of the offending device. Now if he could only remember where he had put that damn thing last night.

He had been in a state of quiet disbelief the whole day yesterday after agreeing on a date with Castiel as he futilely tried to come up with where he wanted to take the stoic detective. He wanted to do something fun but not overly so in case it made the man uncomfortable, while also keeping it romantic enough to make his intentions clear.

Dean heard another ping, coming from the direction of the sofa. Who the hell was bothering him this early in the morning? It wasn't even nine o'clock yet! The mechanic didn't see his phone anywhere, so he started sliding his hand in between the cushions.

Just as his hand found something hard and cold, the object started vibrating, the chorus of Daniel Powter's Bad Day screeching through the speakers.

"What do you want, Sam?" Dean grunted once he picked the phone up.

"Good morning to you too, jerk." came his little brother's cheerful voice from the other side of the line.

"Morning being the operative word."

Sam laughed. "Don't tell me I woke you up, Dean. It's almost nine!"

Dean huffed, walking back into Bobby's kitchen. "I was drinking my coffee, bitch. You know how I am before I've had my coffee."

"You're not working today?" asked Sam in an attempt to change the course of their conversation.

"Nah, Bobby said he's only got some oil changes today and that I could take the day off. Why?"

"Well, Jess and I thought that you might want to come and celebrate the New Year's with us. I mean, I know you planned on going on a lash with Benny but..." he paused as if he could see Dean cringe, "Sorry."

Dean took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. "It's okay," he said hoarsely and had to clear his throat, "they actually caught who did it - well, they have two people in custody and one is still on the loose, but they know who did it."

"Really? Awesome! Do they know why?"

Dean tapped his fingers on the top of the kitchen table nervously. "Yeah, it's complicated though. It was kind of not actually Benny they had a problem with but his stupid little dealer brother."

"Oh," said Sam, apparently not having any other words to say."

"Yeah, oh."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a several seconds, during which Dean finished his coffee and Sam wrote an essay or something similarly productive.

"So how about it?" asked his little brother finally.

"How about what?"

"Should we count on you to come?"

Dean cringed. "Uh, actually I already have plans."

"Plans?" asked Sam his voice so incredulous that Dean was almost offended.

"Yeah, if you have to know. I have a date tonight, Castiel asked me out yesterday and I said yes. Now I just have to figure out what to do."

"Okay," said Sam slowly, "who is Casteel?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Castiel Novak? The detective investigating Benny's murder?"

"You kidding right?"

"Nope, why?" Dean wasn't sure what Sam was getting at.

"You're unbelievable," Sam sighed, sounding like Dean's fifth-grade teacher when she realized Dean once again didn't do his homework, "this is the guy who was interrogating you just a few days ago."

"Interviewing," mumbled Dean, "it wasn't an interrogation."

"Whatever," and this time it was Sammy rolling his eyes, Dean could tell, "I remember you being pretty freaked out about it and now you're dating the guy?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah well, he's really hot when he's not interrogating me."

"You just said it wasn't-"

"Whatever, Sammy. It's just a date."

Sam sighed. "No it's not, Dean. This is you spending New Year's together. Isn't that like ... I don't know, a bit forward? Presumptuous?"

Dean stood up, carrying his dirty mug over to the kitchen sink. "Not like we're gonna kiss at midnight and declare our undying love for each other, we're just gonna hang out, Sammy," he explained, though he couldn't help but hope they would actually make out at some point tonight.

"You're impossible, Dean! I give up. Just make sure to call me and tell me how it went."

Dean scoffed. "Right, so you can give me one of your lectures again? No, thanks."

"Dean," Sam's voice was softer, "just call me to let me know you're all right."

"I'll have a cop with me, what could possibly happen to me?" joked Dean, though he was secretly pleased his brother worried about him.

"Jerk."

"Bye, Sammy," said Dean before promptly hanging up so that Sam didn't have time to get any softer on him. He slid his phone in his back pocket and washed out the coffee mug he was still clutching in his hand.

Dean remembered how he had joked with Benny about spending the New Year's completely slaughtered, playing darts, all the while pretending they were respectable citizens. Dean cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the heavy feeling that had settled there. Well, he could definitely not do the same thing with Castiel, so he should maybe finally come up with something.

What did other people do for dates? Cinema? Dinner? Theme parks? It all sounded very lame to Dean. Besides, Castiel would most likely scoff at most films they showed at the cinemas these days, pointing out the inaccuracies and complete fabrications. Dinner was perhaps too simple and it would seem as if Dean didn't give their date much thought. And theme parks were just ridiculous and not even he would be caught dead in one, Dean told himself, completely disregarding his last year's visit to Elitch Gardens in Denver.

Besides, he should probably find an activity that you couldn't do any other day of the year, it was the very last day of December after all. They could watch a movie anytime they want.

Suddenly, Dean had a bright idea. Fireworks! What was more iconic of the New Year's than fireworks? He and Cas could have dinner first and then go into the park and watch the Pikes Peak firework show. It would give them the opportunity to talk over dinner, while also getting their sustenance to survive the cold night, while they were strolling through the city.

He should probably make a reservation though, Dean was sure a lot of people were going to want to get dinner tonight. But first he had to call Cas to find out when and where they were meeting. He pulled out his phone, this time remembering where he put it since it sat heavy against his butt, and scrolled through his contacts to find Castiel's number.

"Lieutenant Novak of Colorado Springs homicide speaking," Castiel said after he picked up.

"Uh, hey Cas," greeted Dean, suddenly nervous. Maybe he shouldn't have called him since Castiel was working?

"Hello, Dean. How are you?"

Dean wiped his sweaty palm on his jeans. "Great, I'm great. I was just wondering when and where did you want to meet tonight?"

There was some shuffling to be heard before the detective answered: "I have to work until seven today but after that I'm all yours."

"Seven, really? Why do they torture you like that?" asked Dean, already mentally calculating their dinner reservation.

"It's my own doing, I'm afraid. I have a lot of paperwork to finish."

"Well, how about we meet at about ten to eight in front of the Sonterra?"

Dean heard the soft clicking sound of a computer keyboard. "That would be the Sonterra Innovative Southwest Grill on Tejon Street?"

Dean grinned. "Yes. Meet me there?"

"Of course, I am looking forward to dinner, Dean."

"Yeah, well... dress warm," the mechanic told him before exchanging goodbyes and hanging up.

To say that Dean was very pleased with himself was an understatement, he had a friend who was a cook at the Sonterra, so he was reasonably sure he was going to get a reservation. It was perfect.

 

It was almost three in the afternoon, when a knock at the front door, interrupted Dean's Game of Thrones binge watching. He shuffled over to let in whoever thought it was all right to disturb his drooling over Daenerys.

"Hi Charlie," he grinned when he recognized the intruder, "what are you doing here?"

The redheaded girl pushed past him, juggling two plastic bags of something in her hands. "I come to relieve you of your boredom, Dean-nugget. I have a bag full of the best science fiction flicks and the second bag is full of caramel popcorn."

Dean grinned. "How did I deserve all this?"

Charlie winked at him. "I thought you were in a need of a friend, so I volunteered myself for the job."

Dean shook his head, inviting Charlie to sit down with a gesture of his arm. "Well, I was watching Game of Thrones, so you'll have to bear with me."

"Cool," the redheaded tornado said as she opened a paper bucket full of popcorn, "is this the episode when-"

"No!" shouted Dean, stuffing his forefingers in his ears, "I don't want to hear it, you wench!"

Charlie let out an evil chuckle. "So what super duper thing are we doing tonight apart from stuffing our mouths with unhealthy food?"

"Well," started Dean, scratching the back of his head, "I sorta have a date tonight?"

If Dean thought Charlie would be sad that he was ditching her, he was wrong. The girl started squealing uncontrollably: "What? And you're only telling me now? Come on, dish!"

Dean blushed. "He's the detective investigating Benny's murder. We had breakfast together yesterday and we agreed to meet again tonight."

"Oh wow," Charlie uttered, her mouth full of sugary treats, "is he the hot guy that interrogated you on Wednesday?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yes, that would be him."

"Is he still not as hot as Gibbs?"

That forced a genuine laugh out of Dean. "I'm actually starting to rethink that, Cas might just be a little bit hotter."

The redhead gasped. "No! Hotter than the Silver Fox? Surely you're not serious."

"I am serious," said Dean with his most serious face, "and don't call me Shirley," he finished, which sent them both into fits of laughter.

"Oh, you're brilliant, Dean!" exclaimed Charlie when they calmed down a bit, "I could quote films with you all day."

"Me too, Charlene, me too."


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a very hard time writing this chapter and in the end I needed a healthy kick in the bum from my Synergy Sister eureka1 to actually finish it. Credit for all the properly placed commas goes to her, while I'm responsible for all the screw ups :D  
> I hope you like the chapter.

Dean looked at his watch for the fifth time in the past seven minutes and rolled his eyes at himself, when he noticed only forty seconds had gone by since the last time he’d checked. Time was dragging like a dead body and Dean was getting more and more impatient. It was still way too early for Castiel to meet him, since it was barely past half seven and their reservation was for eight o’clock, but Dean was already anxious.

He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, trying to warm himself up in the cold evening air. He had left the house a few minutes after Charlie had, wearing a get-up she had helped him choose, but now he was thinking he should’ve waited a bit longer - if anything, to avoid freezing to death while waiting for his date outside the restaurant. He couldn’t help it if he was eager though, it had been a long time since he went out with anyone, and Castiel was someone he really wanted to get to know better.

He wasn’t completely sure what exactly he was expecting from their evening. The dinner was bound to be nice, if their shared breakfast the day before was anything to go by, but the fireworks might be a bit too much now that he thought about it. Watching pretty lights sparkle in the night sky was a very romantic thing to do, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was suitable for a first date. Or a second one - he still wasn’t sure if the breakfast counted.

He looked at his watch again, noting the time lapse this time was a bit longer - three whole minutes since the last time. Now if only Cas managed to arrive before Dean’s conk froze off.

It took another ten minutes of helpless shivering for the copper to finally appear. Dean saw him walking down the street from almost six hundred feet away, despite the dark of the late hour.

“Hi Cas,” he called once the man was closer, giving him a halfhearted wave, “you ready to go inside?”

Castiel gave him a toothy smile. “Of course,” he agreed immediately, before making a concerned face, “you could’ve waited for me inside, Dean. You must be cold out here.”

The mechanic waved him off. “It’s fine, I didn’t wait long,” he assured the other man, lying unabashedly through his chattering teeth. He had thought of going inside but in the end decided it would be more date-like if he waited in front of the restaurant. The detective gave him a suspicious look, obviously noticing Dean’s discomfort and detecting the lie in his response. He was a detective after all, he was used to noticing even the slightest signs of deception in people - not that the loud clacking of Dean’s teeth was very subtle.

They entered the restaurant, Castiel holding the door open for Dean in a gentlemanly way. The gesture wouldn’t normally sit too well with him but, since he’d lost all the feeling in his hands and wasn’t sure he could manage to open the door himself, it was appreciated. The warm air of the interior hit the mechanic in the face, but he wasn’t about to complain since he figured he could use a bit of warmth to thaw his limbs.

A petite, black-haired waitress stepped up to them as soon as the door swung closed behind them, greeting them with a pearly-white smile. “Good evening, welcome to Sonterra. Do you have a reservation?” she recited.

Dean tried to force his numb cheek muscles to return the friendly smile, but probably wasn’t very successful. “Yeah, we have a table for two under ‘Winchester’,” he told her, before glancing at his watch to check the time again. “We are a few minutes early though,” he added.

“It’s no bother,” the girl assured him, obligingly taking their coats and hanging them onto wooden hooks that were labeled for table number seven. “Your table is ready for you. Follow me.”

Once they were comfortably seated, the leather-bound menus perused and their drinks ordered, Dean realized he didn’t have a clue as to what to do. He hadn’t been on a date in ages and as far as dating cops went, he was a complete virgin.

“So, uh, tell me something about yourself?” Dean began, uncertain as to the etiquette of being on a date with someone who’d once interrogated you. He felt as if he and Cas were on uneven ground as far as getting to know each other went and was set on rectifying that.

Castiel didn’t seem to mind the question though. “What would you like to know?”

Dean racked his brain, trying to come up with a good topic. He wanted to avoid cheesy chitchat about favourite books and movies, but he also wanted to learn more about Cas, so he did have to ask something.

“What made you enter the Police Academy?” Dean questioned a bit awkwardly after finally settling upon a decent conversation subject. “I mean, I can’t imagine training to be a copper. Is hunting for criminals as exciting as it is on TV? Do you have to deal with violent blokes very often?”

Castiel - Dean was glad to see - didn’t seem put off by his ramblings. “I don’t have a heartbreaking story as to what motivated me to pick up this job. I enjoy the challenge of what I do and it suits my analytical mind. I’ve always been really good at solving puzzles - it used to drive my brother crazy when I’d figure out the ‘whodunit’ and blurt it out well before the show ended.”

Dean grinned. Seeing the stoic policeman use air quotes, while speaking about solving fictional murder mysteries was probably the cutest thing he had ever seen - and that was including the little kittens he once found in a box next to a dumpster.

“As to your other questions,” continued Castiel, unaware of Dean’s ridiculous thoughts, “contrary to popular belief, murderers are not the most violent criminals there are. My colleagues from Narcotics could tell you that a gang drug dealer is one of the most difficult people to detain. They fight like berserkers because the instant they’re off the streets, the gang replaces them with someone new, therefore rendering them useless.”

Dean was about to make a funny remark about job security, when he was interrupted by the tiny waitress bringing them their drinks.

“Have you decided yet?” she asked, pulling a small tablet out of the pocket in her waist apron, ready to note down their orders.

Dean glanced at Castiel, who motioned for him to go first. After quickly consulting the menu to check if he remembered the name of his choice correctly, he asked for the glazed back ribs with a side of refried beans.

“And I would like the Carne Asada,” requested Castiel after the waitress tapped in Dean’s choice and turned her attention to him.

“Great, I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready,” she assured them, sliding her tablet back into its pocket, “Don’t hesitate to ask me if you need anything in the meantime,” she finished and, turning on her heel efficiently, left their table.

“So,” Dean picked up the conversation again, once she was out of earshot, “it sounds like you have a pretty interesting job. Not as much as NCIS or Criminal Minds, but pretty interesting.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “TV shows rarely depict the true nature of our job - the main difference being the lack of paperwork the fictional detectives have to do. I sometimes feel like I spend ninety percent of my time writing reports and filling out forms.”

“But you do get the exciting bits too, right? I mean, you bust murderers for a living.”

Castiel nodded his head, sipping at his drink, “That’s true, I once even caught a serial killer,” he said with a proud look on his face, “though I had no idea at the time. It was only after we arrested him for murdering his neighbour that he admitted to killing seven other people.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, not sure if he was impressed or not. Cas had technically caught a serial killer, he reckoned, but it was nothing like what he had seen on Criminal Minds, which was a bummer.

“That’s kind of awesome,” he said anyway, determined to be supportive, no matter how much cooler Aaron Hotchner was, “why did he do it?”

“Never said,” muttered the detective, obviously not pleased with the fact, “he spent hours upon hours in interrogation, but all we got out of him were the names of his victims and places where he buried them. Except for one, that is. One of the bodies that had been discovered was a part of our investigation even before he was arrested, but we never made the connection until he admitted to it.”

Dean bit his lip. “Does that happen often? I mean, you learning about other crimes only after you’ve arrested someone?”

The lieutenant nodded his head, a few strands of his messy hair falling onto his forehead. “Often enough. The criminals we come into contact with are rarely first-timers; usually we already have a rap sheet on them - with anything from petty larceny to GBH or even another murder. It isn’t uncommon to uncover another crime while investigating a murder.”

Dean’s interest was piqued. “Have you found something like that with the guys who killed Benny?”

Castiel shook his head regretfully. “I’m afraid that’s all a part of an ongoing investigation, Dean, I have already shared all the information I could with you. I could tell you about a different case I investigated recently, though.”

Dean nodded his agreement when Castiel gave him an inquiring look.

“One of our main suspects in a double murder case was released - however temporarily - when he provided us with the perfect alibi. At the time of the crime, he had been across the city, robbing a petrol station. He received six years for aggravated robbery but proved to be innocent of the murders,” Cas recounted.

To say that Dean was astonished was an understatement. “You’re having me on. That really happened?”

Castiel gave him a sincere look. “Of course, why would I lie to you?”

“Uh,” Dean let out, taken aback a bit, “I wasn’t really doubting you, Cas. I was just showing my surprise. You have to admit that you don’t hear something like that every day.”

The lieutenant considered Dean’s point for a moment, cocking his head to the side. “That _is_ the reason I told you the story,” he conceded.

Dean grinned at him. Castiel was hardly a master narrator - his story being more of a report of facts rather than anything else - but his likeable personality still made for an enticing experience. “I’m glad you did,” he muttered softly, almost not recognizing his own voice - it was like the audio version of ‘heart eyes’.

They locked gazes over the table, falling silent for a moment. In a movie, a soft alluring music would be playing right about now. Dean studied the colour of Cas’ irises, concluding they were the brightest and the most saturated blue nature could possibly create, and Castiel was looking right back. It was as if time stopped, however cliché that might sound.

“Here are your meals,” a cheerful voice interrupted their staring contest, reminding Dean they were in a restaurant. He nodded his thanks to the waitress that served them their food, his mouth immediately starting to salivate at the sight of perfectly prepared ribs.

“Thank you,” rambled Cas, his voice raspier than it had been before their romantic interlude.

“You’re welcome,” chirped the girl, “let me know if you need anything.”

“We will,” promised Dean, picking up his silverware eagerly and cutting into his meat. It was definitely feeding time for him, he thought. Hallelujah.

Castiel followed suit, starting on his own meal with equal gusto.

“So,” started a curious Dean in between bites of his ribs, keen on continuing their conversation, “do you have one of those one-way mirror thingies up at the station?”

Castiel cocked his head to the right, considering Dean. “Not really, we manage to reach the same effect with a camera in the corner of the Interrogation. There is always at least one other person monitoring the room when it’s in use.”

“Oh,” Dean sighed in disappointment, “I suppose that’s more efficient, but it’s definitely not as cool as a one-way mirror.”

The detective raised his eyebrows. “I actually find it more ‘cool’,” he objected, using his fingers to form quotation marks in the air - which was ridiculous considering he had to put down his cutlery in order to do so, “a mirror doesn’t record the interrogation so it can be used as evidence later.”

Dean became rather agitated upon hearing that.  “Wait, so you can use my interview as evidence too? Even though I didn’t do anything?”

“Of course, you acknowledged that you were being recorded, therefore it’s our right to use the footage as we see fit. You don’t have to worry much, though, it is more than likely that only a transcript of our conversation will be used in court.”

The mechanic rolled his eyes. “Well that’s a relief,” he said sarcastically, “it’s not like the stupid things I said could possibly translate to paper.”

Castiel got an unfocused look in his eyes for a moment, mentally replaying his interview with Dean, before focusing back on his dinner companion. “I don’t remember you saying anything embarrassing, Dean.”

“I don’t remember saying anything at all!” Dean said in a shouted whisper, leaning forward in his chair, “I was quaking in my shoes the whole time I was at the station, so god knows what things I let out of my mouth.”

“I assure you, you said nothing that you would have to be ashamed of.”

Dean was still sceptical but since the copper seemed sincere enough, he decided to drop the matter. For now. All this talk about murders and criminals was a bit exhausting anyway - he had been right in his assumption that while police work sounded interesting, it wasn’t for him. “Can we talk about something else now?” he asked tentatively, hoping not to offend the other man.

He needn’t have worried - Castiel gave him a toothy smile, nodding. “Of course, I would like to talk about you for a change. What are _your_ interests?”

Dean was taken aback with the question, which was ridiculous since it should’ve been expected. What should he talk about though? If he mentioned cars, chances were Cas wouldn’t be able to keep up. The same went for his infatuation with the men and women of Game of Thrones - he couldn’t really see the cop being interested in the sex lives of fictional people.

“I am, uh, a big fan of the Avalanche?” he offered uncertainly.

Castiel’s eyes sparkled with interest. “You are? My brother and I have a seasonal pass to all of their games.”

Dean perked up. “Really? You are an ice hockey fan? That’s awesome, man!”

The detective grinned at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Ever since I was a kid, I appreciated the speed, technicality and ruthlessness of the game.”

The mechanic leaned closer to the other man. “So what do you think about our chances this upcoming season? I mean, we have a new coach, so we’re bound to have a different playing style. Bendar is known for his up-tempo, pressure game.”

Castiel nodded in agreement. “Exactly the tactic the Penguins used to win the last season. We might miss some of the players we’re sending to the World Cup though, aren’t we sending six?”

“True, but Barrie is staying since he didn’t make the roster. That’ll give him more time to work with the other players and absorb Bednar’s more aggressive strategy. That’s should be more up his alley.”

The two man enthused about the upcoming World Cup and NHL season for the rest of their meal, glad to have found a common interest. Castiel offered to let Dean use his seasonal pass whenever he himself couldn’t make it to the match, while Dean suggested they use his living room TV any time neither one of them could travel out of the city for a game.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And much sooner than I expected, I'm back with another chapter!  
> Those of you who are happy with the faster update, you can go and express your gratitude by giving a warm thanks to eureka1, who was once again crucial in getting this chapter written down.  
> Those of you that couldn't care less, leave a comment saying you couldn't care less :D
> 
> No matter what you think of my updating speed, I hope you all enjoy the second half of Dean and Castiel's date.

Their dinner conversation continued even after they left the restaurant, Dean having picked up the bill and Castiel chivalrously holding the door open for him again as they were leaving the restaurant.

They continued discussing the merits of the various Avalanche members as they walked down the sparsely lit Pikes Peak Avenue towards the Memorial Park. They disagreed about who had the best offensive game, but ultimately decided that both Matt Duchene and Carl Soderberg were essential to the team - Duchene having earned himself the most points in the past season and Soderberg having followed him closely with the highest number of assists. They then returned to the team’s defense and predictably ended up talking about Barrie and his prospects for the coming season again.

“Barrie and some of his teammates are pretty fit,” Dean was saying, “which makes me appreciate the Avalanche all the more,” he admitted with a sly wink.

Castiel just hummed to indicate he was listening, so Dean felt comfortable to continue: “In fact, Barrie kind of reminds me of Kit Harington, who plays Jon Snow on Game of Thrones. I sure underestimated Jon till he showed his stuff. Just like Barrie, he’s a thinker as well as a doer. It just takes them a while to succeed while they learn on the job.” Dean rubbed his chin with one hand and mused, “In fact, I drool over pretty much the entire Thrones’ cast. Even if you’re not crazy about the way all those kings and queens are battling for the big prize, the eye candy makes the show worth watching.”

Castiel had been nodding along with Dean’s recount, listening attentively until the end. “I have to admit,” he said when Dean paused for breath, “I am not familiar with the show you speak of. I infer it is a fantasy series?”

“Yeah,” muttered Dean, feeling a bit sheepish after his geek-out. He worried that he was too nerdy to hold the detective’s interest. A guy like Castiel surely wasn’t one for dating fantasy nerds. Benny used to tease him about his addiction to the ‘Game of Butts’ all the time, sometimes making him feel a bit insecure about it. On the other hand though, the show had brought him into a completely different - and obscure - world of fan-written fiction, which made him expand his interests. After a while, he had even dared to write stories in the Game of Thrones fandom, thus developing and improving his writing skills. Maybe if he mentioned these more artistic hobbies of his, it would make him sound more educated and appealing to a man like the lieutenant? Or would it have the opposite effect and make Cas drop him like a hot potato because only weirdos wrote fanfiction? Time to find out.

“It’s a good show,” Dean began carefully, “it even made me pick up new interests.”

“Oh?” prompted Castiel with slightly raised eyebrows. 

The fair-haired mechanic bit his lip, worrying at the cold-abraded skin. “Yeah, I started writing short stories about the characters. At first it was just to fix something I didn’t like in the show - like my favourite characters constantly dying - but then it turned into me creating whole new plotlines.”

“That’s a commendable hobby,” remarked Castiel. “I would never think to turn my hand to writing. My colleagues say that even my reports are drier than the norm for routine paperwork. They complain when they have to peruse them while following up on connections to other cases. Balthazar even had the temerity to suggest they’d make good bedtime reading as they were bound to send him right to sleep.” Castiel shrugged in acceptance of his shortcomings as a writer, “So, I find it all the more admirable that you can create fictional characters and plots.”

Dean tried not to preen at the praise. “I even publish some of my stories on the internet sometimes,” Dean offered self-deprecatingly.

Castiel seemed interested. “You do? Would you mind if I read some of your work?”

Dean blanched as he imagined all those sex scenes his stories were filled with. “Uh, are you sure you want to? You said you don’t even like Game of Thrones.”

The detective shook his head. “I couldn’t have said that, I have never even seen any of the episodes - much to my brother’s very loudly expressed annoyance. He has been unsuccessfully trying to force it onto me for years now, but maybe you’ll be more lucky?”

The mechanic wasn’t sure how to disabuse Cas of the ridiculous notion that he wanted to read his stories. Why had he opened his big gob and mentioned writing fan fiction? He could only imagine the embarrassment he’d have to face if Cas were to read about fictional royalty and commoners knocking boots, usually with multiple partners, in descriptive detail. Cas might think that Dean was looking for the same for himself, which couldn’t be further from the truth. It was really just Dean exercising his vivid imagination.

“Uh, man, are you really sure you want to read them? I’ve gotta warn you that I get pretty graphic with the sex. I mean, like really graphic. Sometimes even threesomes doing all kinds of different things. Graphic things.” Dean blushed a bit. Would that be enough to dissuade the detective?

Castiel didn’t seem fazed however. “That sounds most intriguing, Dean. I’m looking forward to reading your work, and I promise to do so if you send me the links.” He held out his hand and continued: “If you hand me your phone, I can enter my personal telephone number, so that you have a way to reach me.”

Dean pulled out his mobile and found Castiel’s name in his contact list. He changed the number he already had to ‘workplace’ and gave the device to the detective.

Castiel typed in his number in the slot labeled ‘personal’, then shot Dean a curious look. “It is my understanding that authors often choose a nom de plume under which they write their stories. Do you have such a name?”

“A what?” asked Dean in confusion, before he took a wild guess. “Are you talking about a pen name?” Dean stuttered a bit. He really didn’t want to confess his alias to the lieutenant. The man was sure to burst out laughing - if he was even capable of such a thing, that was.

“Exactly. Your pseudonym, especially since you chose it for yourself, should tell me more about you. Think of it as a really informative piece of evidence,” Cas elaborated.

Well now, didn’t that make him feel like even more of an eejit, Dean thought. His monniker hadn’t required much imagination. Ah, well, might as well bite the bullet. “Erm, it’s Grease Monkey,” Dean blurted out.

“Good choice,” Castiel praised. “That tells me that you take pride in your job and chose to reflect that in your nom de guerre.”

Geesh. Couldn’t the copper ever use an ordinary expression like ‘pen name’? Dean nevertheless brightened a bit at Cas’ praise, choosing not to divulge the fact that ‘grease’ sometimes had a bit of a sexual connotation in the land of fanfiction.

They chatted some more about Dean’s writing endeavours as they walked down the street, along with other couples and families with older children. Just as they reached the park, the night sky was crossed by the first flare of the night, bursting into red sparkles. A few individuals around them ‘aahed’ at the sight, turning their gazes upward in expectation of the lightshow continuing.

Dean’s attention was derailed by a different sight, though. In the distance, east of where they were standing, Dean could make out little sparkling lights, flickering in and out of existence. He turned to Cas.

“You know what those are?” he asked him, pointing out the little flashes with his arm, using the opportunity to press closer to the cop under the guise of indicating the direction the flickers were coming from.

“The lights? I have no idea, I’ve never noticed them before,” answered Castiel, his voice carrying a childlike wonder. The little bursts of colour must’ve affected him the same way it did all those gaping children around them.

“That’s the Pikes Peak. A group of people climb the mountains every New Year’s Eve and flash huge mirrors from the timberline at the people in the city. They’re also the ones firing off the fireworks.”

Castiel shook his head, his eyes not leaving the faraway flickers. “I never knew that. That’s very interesting, thank you for showing me, Dean.”

The mechanic’s cheeks reddened slightly. “No problem, I’m glad you like it.”

“I do,” Cas told him, moving his intense eyes to focus od Dean, “shall we go into the park now?” he queried.

The fair-haired man nodded his assent and slowly started walking along a path to his right, which disappeared in a patch of greenery. The park wasn’t really anything spectacular, but it was a great place to watch the midnight firework show from. He wasn’t the only one with that line of thinking though, there were numerous other people milling about. Dean looked at all the other couples strolling past them hand-in-hand, and felt a bit envious at how right and together they looked. He chanced a glance at Castiel and wondered if he’d let him hold his hand. He tried to brush his fingers against the detective’s left palm, but the other man didn’t react to the subtle touch. He tried again, in case Cas hadn’t felt it the first time but once again garnered no reaction. He decided that third time was the charm and grazed his palm against Castiel’s. This time the cop felt it for sure, since he retracted his hand at the touch.

Well that sucked. Cas was either completely useless in social situations and hadn’t picked up on the subtle offer, or he simply didn’t want to hold Dean’s hand. Only one way to find out, thought the mechanic as he decided to bite the bullet and just ask.

"Can I hold your hand?" Dean ventured, nervous but proud that his voice didn’t break.

Castiel turned to him, meeting his eyes. "Oh, of course,” he agreed, seemingly completely unbothered, and extended his left arm towards the mechanic.

Dean let out a quick sigh of relief, reaching for Castiel’s warm hand. He grasped it firmly, noticing it fit nicely into his palm, the detective’s callouses from target practice sliding pleasantly against the mechanic’s own. "I thought you didn't want to," Dean said after a beat of silence.

Castiel threw him a confused look. "What?"

Dean shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "To hold hands,” he explained, “I thought you didn’t want to because I brushed my hand against yours, and you didn't take the hint.”

The detective sighed, shaking his head at himself. "My people skills are a bit rusty, Dean. I apologize if I made your overture feel unwelcomed."

“It’s all right,” the mechanic assured him, “I’m feeling pretty stoked right now,” he finished with a grin, motioning to their clasped hands in explanation.

They walked in a comfortable silence for a while after that, the sporadically exploding fireworks lighting up the sky every now and then.

They were smack in the middle of the park, when the people around them started getting excited. Dean checked his watch and noted it was only something over one minute until midnight and therefore almost time for them to welcome the new year.

“It’s almost midnight,” he informed his date in a soft voice, sorry to break the content quiet that had settled over them.

Castiel hummed, squeezing Dean’s hand, causing the man to shiver. “Are you cold?” he asked, a concerned look on his face.

The mechanic was about to deny it, when he noticed that he _was_ actually kind of chilly. “I’m not freezing,” he assured Castiel, “but I am a bit uncomfortable.”

“Would it help if I shared my body warmth?” the cop asked guilelessly.

Not sure what to expect, but excited to find out how exactly Cas planned on going about it, Dean eagerly agreed. “That would be great.”

Castiel tugged at his hand with a slight smile on his face - bringing Dean closer to himself - before wrapping his other arm around the mechanic’s shoulders, thus effectively encasing him in a comfortable embrace. “Is this tolerable?” he questioned.

Dean shivered again, this time in delight. “It’s perfect,” he mumbled.

They stood just like that, unmoving, until the people around them started the New Year’s countdown. Loosening the embrace, they moved to stand shoulder to shoulder, Castiel’s arm still around Dean’s shoulders.

“... seven, six, five…” yelled the crowd, eyes intent on their loved ones. Dean scanned the couples nervously, realizing for the first time that bringing Cas to a park full of lovey dovey people eager to welcome the next year with a kiss probably wasn’t the best idea.

“... two, one, Happy New Year!” echoed through the city, the loud ruckus of flares exploding over their heads following the exclamation. And just as Dean had feared, the paired up lovers around them used the opportunity to share a romantic kiss, or two, or a whole make-out session in some cases.

“This is weird,” whispered Dean, feeling very uncomfortable, being one of the few people in the park that were not exploring anyone else’s tonsils with his tongue.

Castiel fidgeted next to him, a perfect picture of embarrassment. "This is an uncomfortable situation even for me,” he acknowledged with a nod of his head, his voice raspy with cold.

Dean laughed and suddenly it wasn’t weird at all. He bumped into Cas’ side playfully, squeezing the other man’s hand.

When the show finished almost half an hour later, Castiel offered to walk Dean home. The mechanic agreed, if only to spend more time with the man. They walked more briskly, since Dean was shivering once again, and right after one o’clock, they stopped in front of Singer’s Auto.

“So,” the mechanic said awkwardly, “that was nice.”

“It was,” Castiel agreed, “I have enjoyed myself immensely, Dean. Thank you.”

Dean bit his lip shyly. “Me too, Cas. I’d like to see you again sometime.”

The detective gave him a smile. “We’ll call each other,” he assured him.

“Ok, so…” Dean mumbled, not sure what to do.

Castiel took the matter into his own hands - well, he took Dean into his own hands - giving the mechanic a quick but thoroughly enjoyable hug.

“See you then,” the mechanic told him, when they separated.

The lieutenant grinned in answer and Dean couldn't remember the last time he felt this good after a date. He didn’t even get a kiss.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter and another thank you to eureka1 for helping me!  
> I hope you all appreciate the faster updates, I know I do :D

Castiel felt more tired than he had ever felt before - and that was saying something. Not even that time he’d had to sit in interrogation for eighteen hours straight, trying to shake a confession out of a man who had kidnapped and then killed a five-year-old girl, held a candle to the deep-bone weariness he was experiencing now.

It had all started as soon as he’d gotten up. For the first time in years, he’d felt like shooting something when his alarm clock decided to wake him up at his usual seven o’clock, and the only thing preventing him from actually reaching for the gun he kept beside his bed had been  the thought of all the complaints from his neighbours he’d have to deal with afterwards. He had been nowhere near awake enough to do any damage control.

He had slowly heaved himself up from his bed, repressing his impulse to become sentimental and tell his mattress he’d miss it, and gone to his bathroom. Once he’d brushed his teeth, he’d felt more like a human being again and his mood had started slowly improving. He’d still been tired, of course, but he hadn’t been chippy anymore.

It wasn’t until he arrived at work that he actually gave any thought to the events of the night before. His brain, having managed to recall his whole date with Dean, was whirring with emotions that he had no real idea how to process.

He had thoroughly enjoyed himself, of that there was no question, but he wasn’t completely sure what he was doing. Any sort of relationship with Dean wasn’t really the best of ideas - not only was the man directly connected to an ongoing case, but he was also a distraction that Castiel couldn’t afford at the moment. He was in the middle of a pretty nasty case and the last thing anyone needed was for him not to be on top of his game.

In addition to all that, relationships with people who didn’t really understand police work were more or less destined to fail from the get go. Civilians hardly ever understood the dedication it took to be a police officer and often got dissatisfied with the long and irregular hours their partners had to keep. In short, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Castiel sighed, powering up his computer. On the other hand, he thought, he should also take into consideration the fact that he had never before felt as infatuated with anyone as he was with Dean. Surely that wasn’t something to be disregarded? Each and every one of their conversations - except for those that were on the official record - were enjoyable and intriguing. The man himself was also very interesting - from being a fan of Castiel’s favourite sports team to having written numerous stories about fictional characters.

Castiel checked his phone on the off chance that Dean had sent him the links to his stories, but wasn’t very surprised he had no new messages. It was more than likely that the mechanic was still asleep after the long night they’d had. God knows Castiel himself would still be in bed if he didn’t have to go to work.

Speaking of work, he should really start doing something productive. He had already spent almost an hour daydreaming about Dean; he didn’t need to waste more of his work time. Otherwise he needn’t have bothered to come in at all.

The lieutenant logged in to the police server, pulling up all the relevant files. Maybe if he read through what they had one more time, he would somehow figure out where Lucifer was hiding. Didn’t they say that the fifteenth time was the charm?

He had become so absorbed by his work that he completely missed lunch, and the only liquid he drank was a lukewarm coffee that someone had left on the corner of his desk for him. It was almost four in the afternoon when a voice from the doorway finally brought him out of his single-minded concentration. “Boss?”

“Yes, Balthazar?” he acknowledged the lurking man, marking the place where he had stopped reading with a cursor.

The officer stepped inside his office. “You said to inform you when the Lafitte clean up was done,” he reminded his lieutenant.

Castiel nodded. “So they’re finally done? I was starting to think I’d have to send one of you to the flat to clean it instead.”

Balthazar grinned easily. “Did you just make a joke, boss? I don’t remember the last time I was given a cleaning lady assignment. Maybe in bootcamp.”

Castiel gave him his best drill-instructor look. “Who said I was joking? Trying to wash blood out of couch cushions is a good way to maintain strong morale at the workplace.”

Balthazar’s smile froze on his face. “You’re serious?”

The lieutenant’s mouth didn’t even twitch. “Completely. Now go back to what you were doing and let me work, I think there was a very messy motorcycle accident on the twenty-fourth that needs cleaning up.”

It wasn’t very surprising that the officer left promptly and without a word of resistance.

Castiel let himself chuckle quietly, before he picked up his cellphone. He had promised to let Dean know whenever his flat was ready to be released.

*

It took the escalating volume of the ringing coming from his phone to finally rouse Dean from his deep slumber. He flailed around sleepily, trying to remember where he’d put that damned device earlier that morning after he came home. It definitely wasn’t on the bedside table like it was supposed to be.

His brain finally awoke enough for him to remember that the phone was most likely still in the pocket of his leather jacket. Where was the flaming jacket though? He vaguely remembered tossing it across the back of a chair in his room after he’d stumbled inside, grinning giddily like a teenaged schoolgirl. That hug Cas had given him outside the Singer’s Auto had just felt so . . . nice. He’d never before wanted a date to end without at least a kiss, but that hug had stayed with him all night, while he was drifting through his dreams, making him smile in his sleep.

The insistent shrilling of the mobile reminded Dean that he had something else to do other than daydreaming - searching for the blasted thing. He went over to the chair, found the jacket and … got it! In his haste, Dean didn’t bother to check the display, just pressed the ‘accept call’ icon and grunted out a raspy, “Hello?”

“Dean? Did I awaken you?” Castiel asked, sounding awfully chipper in the mechanic’s opinion. What was up with that dude? Didn’t he need sleep like a normal human being? They’d been out equally late the night before.

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to admit that he had just rolled out of bed, especially after he squinted at the time and discovered it was already four o’clock in the afternoon. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so unreasonable that Cas was already firing on all cylinders, but he still seemed a bit too cheerful to Dean - especially for the first day of the new year.

Dean covered the mic and cleared his throat thoroughly before speaking again. “Uh, no. I got up a while ago. Just getting another cup of coffee. I had trouble finding my phone, you know.” Realizing he was babbling and probably didn’t sound at all truthful, Dean abruptly stopped talking.

“Dean, there is no need to make an excuse if I’ve awakened you,” Cas stated in a dry tone that made it clear he suspected Dean had just stumbled out of bed. “There’s no shame in sleeping off a long night. I was certain, however, that you’d want to know you can move back into your apartment. Everything is scrubbed clean and the crime scene tapes have been removed.”

“That’s awesome, man,” grinned Dean, momentarily forgetting his embarrassment at being caught in a lie, “so I can go check it out today?”

The detective hummed into the receiver. “Yes, it’s been released. You can go as soon as you want to.”

Dean knew he’d feel much better about returning to his apartment if Cas were to go with him. It both made him sad and gave him the creeps, knowing Benny had been murdered there. It might also give him a chance to see the detective that day, an idea he could definitely get behind. “Uh, do you think you could go with me? I mean, that one guy’s still out there, right? I don’t want him to jump me when I go home.” Dean confessed in embarrassment. He didn’t want to sound like he couldn’t take care of himself, but he really was a bit worried that low-life bastard would for some reason come back.

“Yes, I can accompany you and make sure that the coast is clear. I won’t be able to meet you until I get off work, though. Would seven thirty this evening be acceptable?” Castiel asked. He was pleased that Dean had asked for his assistance. In fact, he’d secretly hoped for this result when he called the man, wanting to be there to support him. Returning to the place where he had found his best friend dead wasn’t going to be easy.

“Sure. Seven thirty it is. So, uh, I’ll see you in front of the building?”

“I will be there,” Castiel assured him.

*

It was a bit surreal, standing in front of the door to his apartment for the first time since that horrid day. Dean felt really uncomfortable being here, especially since Benny wasn’t there to welcome him home with a cheeky grin on his face and a friendly insult on his tongue.

God, how he missed his friend. He had caught himself several times over the past few days, wanting to tell the soldier about something that’d happened to him, even going as far as to grab his phone once before realizing no one would pick up. It felt wrong not having Benny there to share everything with. So much was happening to him right now and he didn’t have his best friend to talk to. Like the deal with Cas, for example. Dean was sure his friend would get a right kick out of the fact that Dean was dating a copper. Then again, if Benny hadn’t been murdered, he’d never have met Cas in the first place, so that was a stupid thought.

He was brought out of his wallowing by Castiel’s hand on his back. “Are you ready, Dean? We don’t have to do this today.”

Dean gave him a forced smile. “No, that’s all right, I think I’d rather do it now than keep procrastinating over it. Rip the bandaid off, you know?”

The detective nodded. “Very well then.”

Dean returned the nod, but didn’t move from where he had been staring at the door.

“Dean?” Castiel asked uncertainly, “you need to unlock the door to get in.”

The mechanic finally seemed to unfreeze himself from his stupor. “Right,” he mumbled under his breath, pulling out his keys with a slightly trembling hand. He could do this, he thought to himself, just turn the key and open the door.

In the end it took him whole two minutes to actually walk into the apartment - Cas standing patiently at his side - and predictably, his eyes went right to the living room couch first. He held his breath, slowly walking closer to where he had found Benny’s bloodied body. The cleaning service apparently hadn’t managed to get all the blood out of the cushions, since the stains were still partially visible, and Dean was suddenly seeing his friend for the first time again, lying in between the blood splatters, his whole body leaned to the side from the force of the bullet.

He blinked and the vision was gone. He staggered slightly, off balance from the immediacy of what he’d just relived. Maybe he should think about getting some counselling, thought Dean, since this sort of thing couldn’t possibly be normal.

"I suppose you'd do well to relocate," Castiel remarked as he inspected the brownish marks.

"Yeah, I guess,” agreed Dean, gritting his teeth, “It's not like I can afford it on my own anyway. There was a reason Benny and I shared a flat and it wasn’t because we would die without one anoth-" he broke off. “Shit, I didn’t mean… I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Of course not,” Castiel assured him with a calming hand on his upper arm.

Dean wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. “Ok, well… I’m not staying here, so I’ll just go and pack some clothes and we’ll be outta here.”

“Whatever you want to do,” agreed the detective.

The nervous man nodded, before turning around jerkily and heading towards his room. He picked up an empty plastic bag on his way, reckoning it would have to do, and noticed his hands were shaking. There was no way he could ever live here ever again, he thought, stopping in front of his bedroom. He took a deep breath to steel his nerves and strode in, determined to quickly pack up a few shirts and get out, no dawdling required. He was halfway into the room, when he froze in place as something in his peripheral vision caught his eye. “Shit!” he squeaked out. He could swear he’d just seen Benny’s lifeless body lying in the rumpled sheets of his bed.

“Something wrong?” came the deep voice of the detective from the doorway.

Dean looked at Castiel, panic clear in his eyes, before he turned back to where he had seen Benny. There on his unmade bed lay Benny’s dark gray sweater. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Nothing,” he assured Cas, “I just thought I saw something.”

The lieutenant walked up to him, laying hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing here that could hurt you, Dean. We’ve gone through the place with a fine-toothed comb.”

Dean smiled at Cas gratefully. “Yeah, I know. This place… it’s just messing with me, you know? I’m jumping at shadows.”

Castiel nodded in understanding. “That is perfectly normal in cases like this, Dean. I can assure you though, that Lucifer is nowhere near this flat, he’s most likely not even in the city. You’re safe,” he said in an attempt to give Dean a bit of peace.

When Dean didn’t answer, the detective gave his shoulder another squeeze and left him to his packing, figuring he needed some time alone. The mechanic took a deep breath, watching Cas go, before turning back around and walking towards his closet. He quickly pulled as many shirts, jumpers and trousers as he could, before adding socks and pants to the top of the pile. He then shoved it all in the plastic bag he had found in the hallway.

As he was leaving his room, Benny’s sweater caught his eye again and Dean couldn’t help the way his heartbeat picked up. He was seriously disturbed, he thought. First the couch, now this. He stomped over and snatched the offending piece of fabric off the bed,  cramming it in the bag along with the rest of the clothes.

It was a testament to his quickly deteriorating mind that he had managed to forget Castiel was at the flat with him. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw a man standing in his living room, browsing through Dean’s DVD collection, before remembering it was the detective.

“Yes, Dean, you definitely need therapy,” he mumbled to himself. “You’re not disturbed, you’re batshit crazy.”

Castiel turned to look at him. “I beg your pardon?”

The mechanic waved him off. “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

“Oh.”

“What?” asked Dean, immediately defensive, “that doesn’t make me crazy.”

The detective held up his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. “Of course not, I also talk to myself occasionally. It helps me sort out my thoughts.”

Dean nodded. “Well, we can go now, if you want. I think I’m done here.”

The detective unsurprisingly didn’t have any objections and the two men promptly left the way they’d come. They separated in front of the building, Castiel heading to his car and Dean walking north towards Bobby’s.

Once he was back at the auto shop, Dean made himself a cup of coffee - spiking it with a shot of whiskey - to calm his nerves. He could never possibly live in that place ever again. He’d never fall asleep, always wondering if someone was out to get him.

Picking up his phone, he scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he needed. He pressed the call button and waited for his landlord to pick up.

“Yeah?” grunted the old man.

“Uh, hi. This is Dean Winchester?”

“Yes, Mr Winchester, I was actually waiting for you to call.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You were?”

“Of course, I mean after the tragedy… have I already given you my condolences, by the way? I didn’t mean to miss the funeral.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Actually, there hasn’t been a funeral yet. The police haven’t released his body.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure not to miss it then.”

Yeah right, Dean thought to himself. “Back to the reason I’m calling,” he said to get back on track, “I know my lease isn’t up until May but I’ll be moving out as soon as possible. I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be using the flat anymore.”

The landlord hummed in understanding. “Of course, Mr Winchester, I understand. I’m sure you understand that you’d be breaking your lease?”

“Yeah, I know. But I can’t lie in that flat.”

“I might be able to help you out,” the old man offered, “I can let you a different, smaller flat and just continue the contract there - for a small fee, of course.”

Dean furrowed his brows at what he heard. It sounded peculiar at best and Dean didn’t want to entangle himself in something dodgy - especially if he was to be dating a copper. He’ll have to give Sam a call and talk it over with him.

“I’ll have to think about that,” he finally said, “I’d have to consult my lawyer before I decide anything.”

“Right. Of course, you let me know what you worked out.”

Dean thanked him for his understanding and hung up. He thanked his lucky stars that Bobby was such a good friend that he let him use his guest room for the time being. He didn’t know what he’d do otherwise.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm thanks goes to eureka1 again for her help and support in writing this chapter. She had the displeasure of writing all the boring parts, so we should really appreciate her :D

The ringing of his phone interrupted Castiel blankly staring at the files in front of him. He had already read them so many times that he could recite them word for word, but he still couldn’t figure out where Lucifer might have had fled to. He was slowly coming to the conclusion that the man didn’t have a plan and that he had just randomly chosen a cardinal direction and gone on his way.

The lieutenant tiredly picked up the device and, after pressing the appropriate button, he held it to his ear.

“Novak,” he announced in a raspy voice, uncharacteristically lazy with his greeting.

“This is Sergeant Abbott of the Fort Collins Police Department. You are the lead investigator of the Lafitte case?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes, that’s me. Do you have any information for me, Sergeant?”

“I think so. I have a few of my boys surveilling an old storehouse on the outskirts of the city where we suspect some criminal activity. It’s looking like drugs since we’ve seen a few well known dealers in and out of there, and officer Nettles has noticed a man that matches the description of your guy.”

“Lucifer,” supplied Castiel, his heart beating wildly in anticipation.

“Yes, him. I told my boys to leave them alone for the time being since we don’t want to scare them into hiding again.”

Castiel nodded, already looking up the directions to the Fort Collins police headquarters. “Do you have surveillance photos that you could send me?”

“Sure. The e-mail is the one on your main webpage?”

“Yes.”

There was some clicking to be heard over the line, and Castiel found himself hoping the sergeant was computer savvy and could send the photos quickly, since he was so impatient to see whether they had really finally found Lucifer.

“I’ve just sent the information, sir.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said as he opened the received message and opened the attached photos, “I’ll print them out and have someone identify him. Thank you for your cooperation,” he finished quickly and hung up, not waiting for an answer.

The wait for his printer to start up was unbearable, as he sent the photos off to print and tapped his foot while standing next to the old machine. The damned thing was taking its sweet time and Castiel felt like an expectant father as he waited for the printer to spit out the paper.

Castiel was elated but didn’t show it outwardly. They might finally have a concrete lead on Lucifer. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Balthazar walking past the door to his office and called after him: “Roche!”

“Boss?” came the hesitant answer as the man stepped inside. Castiel’s voice must’ve sounded fairly tense to garner that response.

Castiel grabbed the just printed photos. “Take these to Roman and Kramny,” he commanded, shoving the pictures at the officer. “After they identify the suspect, find Uriel and come to my office.”

He settled himself in for a frustrating wait as he watched his best officer run out.

  
“The uncle and friend sang like little birdies, Lieutenant,” Balth informed him when he and Uriel entered Castiel’s office only fifteen minutes later. “Kramny especially can’t stop babbling; he’ll say anything in hopes of reducing his jail time.”

“Good,” grunted Castiel. “Sergeant Abbott of the Fort Collins PD called me. His men have been observing a gang of drug dealers in a rundown, boarded-up warehouse and stumbled across Lucifer in the process.”

“Do we get to assist in arresting the perp?” Uriel asked, eager to remove another scumbag, drug-dealing murderer from the streets.

Castiel forced down the fond look that was trying to overtake his face. “It’s our case, Roth, you won’t miss out on the arrest. Besides, Abbott seems happy to work with us,” Castiel responded. “We need to be in Fort Collins now if we’re going to participate in the arrest, though.”

“Boss, it’s gonna take us at least two hours to get there,” Balthazar noted with a look at his watch, “so it’ll be dark by the time we’ve conferred with the local police.”

Castiel’s eyebrows rose, “Is that a problem? We have been known to capture criminals after darkness falls.” Upon Balthazar’s sheepish look, the lieutenant continued, “Our suspect is in Fort Collins, so that’s where the three of us should be. Go get your vehicle, Roche, and drive it around to the main entrance. We leave in ten minutes.”

As the two men rushed out of his office, Castiel grinned to himself. It was always good to keep his men on their toes.

  
Castiel entered the Fort Collins police station with Balthazar and Uriel on his heels. “We’re with the Colorado Springs PD,” he told the uniform manning the front desk. “Please inform Sergeant Abbott that Lieutenant Novak has arrived.”

Before the officer could get up, a slightly overweight man with receding reddish hair hurried over. “Lieutenant Novak? I’m Abbott. Good of you to join us.”

“We appreciate your cooperation in this matter, Sergeant. It’s imperative that we apprehend Lucifer as soon as possible.” Castiel responded, relieved that there likely wouldn’t be any kind of turf war with the Collins PD over jurisdiction.

“We do have occasional problems with drug dealers, but since Fort Collins is only a third of the size of Colorado Springs, we don’t usually have to deal with situations of this scope,” the worried sergeant confessed, rubbing his brow as if dealing with an incipient headache. “I’d appreciate any advice and assistance you can offer.”

“We’re here to help, Sergeant.” Cas assured the man, “Would you object to my taking charge of the planning?” When Abbott nodded in grateful assent, the lieutenant looked around the bullpen. “I need at least four of your people,” he told the sergeant, “I suggest we use some of the men who were performing surveillance on the building.”

“That would be Nettles and Lloyd,” said the other man, “the rest are still at the scene. They have orders to inform me of anything suspicious happening at the warehouse.”

“You’ll come as well, I assume?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it, sir,” he said with a determined look, “and if I can suggest taking Officer Merkel along as well, she has proven herself in the field numerous times before.”

Castiel nodded. “Gather them all up then and let us take this somewhere quieter. We need to figure out a sound plan of attack and move quickly. I’d rather not wait and let Lucifer slip through our fingers once again.”

The sergeant nodded his head seriously. “Whatever you say, sir. We can use my office to talk it through,” he pointed to a closed glass door behind him.

Castiel wordlessly turned around, motioning to Balthazar and Uriel to join him in Abbott’s office. He wasn’t one to waste any time with pleasantries on a normal day, let alone on one such as this. The three Springs cops filed into the sparsely furnished room and went to stand around a square plastic table that was situated in the centre of an ugly-grey carpet. Not a minute later, Abbott and three other cops entered.

The sergeant pointed at a stocky man with thinning brown hair, introducing him as Officer Nettles. “He was the one who first noticed Lucifer,” he reminded them. “This is Officer Lloyd,” he then continued, turning to his left and motioning towards a wiry man with a sharp jaw and a very angular face, which made him look more strict than Castiel’s secondary school maths teacher. “And finally, this is Officer Merkel,” he gestured towards a tall woman standing next to Lloyd. She was clearly of a good form, her limbs thick with muscles, while her torso was pleasantly curvy and her face held soft features. Too soft, perhaps, thought Castiel, she could do with some of Officer Lloyd’s angles.

“I am Lieutenant Novak,” he introduced himself, stepping forward. “These are officers Roche and Roth,” he pointed consecutively at the stocky black man and the thin blond.

“Nice to meet you,” said Merkel, her voice deep and clear.

Behind Castiel, Uriel snorted quietly. “Right, well let’s get cracking.”

The lieutenant shot him a quelling look before turning his attention back to the woman. “Likewise,” he assured her with a twitch of his lips that might pass for a smile. He then stepped back again and leaned his hip on the plastic table, ready to begin.

It took them almost two hours of careful debate to figure out a plan that Castiel was willing to put his name to. In truth, it all boiled down to a basic ‘in and out’ routine in the end, but they had to go through a number of contingencies - or as Balthazar liked to call them ‘oh shit’ plans - to get there. It seemed very simple in theory, four men inside a building with only one access door, no windows that opened, and a narrow ventilation shaft, but Castiel managed to come up with at least six ways it could all go sideways.

Once they were ready to go, they started the ball rolling. Abbott arranged for an ambulance to be on standby a few streets south of the warehouse, while Nettles and Merkel went to the armory to pick up the necessary arms. Castiel wasn’t willing to enter a drug dealer’s den with only his Smith and Wesson for defence. He had asked for an M16 to use but, upon being informed that there were only two rifles in stock, he urged the Fort Collins officers to take them for themselves and instead opted to take a second Smith and Wesson as his backup.

  
They were now standing only five hundred feet away from where Lucifer was supposedly hiding, their squad cars parked out of view. Castiel tightened the straps on the side of his kevlar vest as he turned to his colleagues. “The surveillance suggests that there are four armed men inside,” he repeated for the third time, looking intently at the policemen, “watch your backs though, there is no guarantee there aren’t more armed men inside.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes, though his face was otherwise serious. “We know, boss, you told us like a hundred times already.”

Castiel turned to him with a snarl, “And I will say it again if it prevents you ending up with a piece of lead in your big mouth, Roche.”

The officer held up his hands. “Sorry, Boss, sorry.”

Cas nodded jerkily. “Are you all ready?” he asked the officers, watching uneasily as Lloyd’s sweaty hands slipped on the strap of his shoulder holster. He received affirmative answers all around.

“We’ll go in then,” he said as he checked on his spare magazines one last time and straightened his helmet to align his night vision goggles properly. “Follow me.”

The heavily armed group slowly headed towards the building in question, guns drawn, crouching for cover whenever possible. The windows were dimly lit, but as they slowly approached, they could see no movement inside. Five minutes later, they stood in front of the door without incident. So far so good.

Castiel motioned for Uriel to kick in the door and took a deep breath. He watched as the muscled man thumped his heel right next to the doorknob, effectively slamming the wooden door open.

“Go, go, go!” the lieutenant urged his team through gritted teeth as he led the way inside, his S&W aimed forward. He immediately saw three green man-sized shapes surrounding what looked like an old kitchen counter. “Police!” he announced himself with a shout, adding “put down your weapons!” when he noticed one of the shapes pulling out a gun from behind his belt.

His only answer was a firearm going off and the dull sound of a bullet hitting concrete somewhere to his left, which caused him to drop to a crouch. “Get down!” he instructed his men.

There was a beat of silence.

“Put down your weapons and lie on the ground!” he commanded again, “you are outnumbered!”

The answering salvo wasn’t much of a surprise, and Castiel had no other choice but to return fire. He aimed for the legs of one of the criminals and fired three consecutive rounds, hearing his teammates follow his example.

He had either missed or just scratched the man, because the drug dealer kept shooting until his magazine clicked empty ten seconds later. Castiel subconsciously counted about thirteen rounds. Wonderful.

“Fuck!” Uriel cursed loudly from behind him as a bullet whizzed too close to where they were crouching.

Castiel fired another four bullets, this time hearing a startled yelp as one of them hit flesh. Three more bullets, he noted absently as he aimed for a different man and prepared to shoot. Before he could pull the trigger though, his vision went white.

“The goggles!” shouted Abbott who was hiding behind a crate on Castiel’s five o’clock. The lieutenant immediately lifted the useless tool from his eyes, blinking at the sudden onslaught of light. One of the perps they had yet to see must have flipped the switch.

He heard a dull thud followed by a whispered “Shit.” as one of the officers knocked off their helmet by mistake. Castiel imagined it was Lloyd.

“Nine o’clock!” yelled Balthazar, shooting off a few rounds from his gun in the indicated direction. Castiel didn’t have a clear view of whom the officer had seen, since there was a wall in the way, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it because the very next second a bullet went right past his head. The lieutenant grabbed a spare clip from his front vest pocket as he counted thirteen bullets going his way. He used the short pause while the thug was reloading to shoot off his remaining three rounds using just one hand.

He had replaced his ammunition with a practiced move and had just aimed for one of the criminals again, when a loud racket coming from behind the wall startled him. It took him a second to realize it was the sound of an automatic rifle going off. It was over in only ten seconds but then Castiel heard the sound of an empty clip hitting the ground, so he presumed the shooter had reloaded.

“Aim to kill!” he ordered his men as he changed his aim from a leg to torso.

Another spray of bullets hit the ground in front of them, causing Castiel’s ears to ring at the loud sound. It took him four bullets to get the drug dealer he had been shooting at down, noticing one of the others crouch behind the old kitchen counter.

Suddenly, the sound of another rifle joined the first, this one a lot closer as it nearly deafened Castiel. Either Nettles or Merkel then.

The lieutenant emptied his clip in the general direction of the hidden perp, feeling Uriel press against him from behind as the man tried to avoid another handful of projectiles aimed their way.

“Got him!” he heard a muffled voice cry out as the rifles quieted, leaving Castiel with the impression that he was underwater. He couldn’t even tell which of the cops said it.

There was one remaining man standing - well, crouching behind a large shipping box. Castiel reloaded again but didn’t shoot as he didn’t have a clear view.

It took both Balthazar and Abbott emptying their magazines into the box for the criminal behind it to finally shout: “I give up! Don’t shoot!”

“Stand up with your hands above your head and slowly come around the box!” instructed Abbott. Castiel suppressed the feeling of irritation at the sergeant taking over the negotiations; he might as well let the man have his moment.

The thug slowly did as he was told, a 9 millimetre Ruger dangling from his left hand. “Ok, just don’t shoot,” he repeated as he turned and inched his way around the box. He was limping a little, his right calf bleeding heavily.

There was a shuffle at Castiel’s five o’clock, but the lieutenant didn’t dare to turn around to check what was going on, keeping his gun trained on the surrendering perp.

By the time he realized what the shuffle meant, it was too late. Lloyd had gotten up from behind his cover, clearly intending to go and arrest the bleeding man and, just as Castiel shouted at him to duck, another rifle salvo came their way. The officer yelped, freezing in place, and Castiel instinctively jumped up and dived for him, tackling him to the ground. He hadn’t even hit the ground yet when he felt a burning sensation in his bicep, as hot metal seared through his skin. Well that was just great, he thought. It couldn’t have hit the kevlar for once, could it?

He could hear both Merkel and Nettles returning fire over his head, where he lay on the ground, protecting Lloyd with his body. It was only then that the lieutenant realized the renewed fire wasn’t due to the man he had seen crouch behind the counter but was the doing of a fifth shooter that had been hiding up until that point. Balthazar owed him a beer.

Once again, he couldn’t hear anything, but he did notice when the fire ceased again. He carefully lifted his head to see both rifle-wielding officers stand up and rush forwards their guns still at the ready. Merkel headed towards the Ruger-guy while Nettles went to apprehend the man behind the kitchen counter. Castiel turned to look at Abbott and got a grim nod of confirmation in return. It was over.

Finally feeling safe enough to heave himself off of Lloyd, he grunted in pain as his bicep almost gave out underneath the weight of his upper body. He didn’t have time to inspect his wound though because when he looked down at the officer lying underneath him, he noticed the man was screaming. Funny how he hadn’t heard it when his ear was literally next to the man’s mouth moments earlier.

Castiel ran his eyes over Lloyd’s body, stopping at his thigh. There in the middle of the big muscle was a large, gaping hole, blood wildly spouting from it. Automatically pressing his hands to the wound in hopes of stopping the bleeding, he shouted for someone to get the ambulance. He didn’t check if anyone heeded his request, trusting his men to do as they were told.

By the time the paramedics finally took over from him, his hands were shaking from exertion.

“Is he going to be okay?” asked Merkel, her perp securely handcuffed.

Castiel barely heard her, his hearing still pretty much rubbish. “I don’t know,” he told her with a noncommittal shrug. He couldn’t really think properly, his brain still catching up with the events of the evening.

He turned around, taking off his helmet and running a bloody hand through his hair. He came face to face with Lucifer.

The man’s hands were cuffed behind his back with Nettles holding tightly onto his arms, and he had a defeated expression on his face. Castiel shook his head at himself, he couldn’t believe he had almost forgotten the reason they went into this in the first place. However, seeing Lucifer just a few feet in front of him served as the perfect reminder.

The Lafitte case could finally be closed.

Lucifer was led away, and Castiel watched a group of paramedics run towards the rest of the perpetrators, each of whom was being guarded by one of the officers. He focused his gaze on the one he had shot in the chest and cursed silently when he saw the EMT check for a pulse before shaking her head. Dead.

The lieutenant shook his head, trying to get rid of the sluggish feeling that had come over him. He felt as if his head was encased in wool, his ears most likely still not fully recovered from the barrage of noise - that would take a few hours yet.

“Sir?” came the calming voice of one of the female paramedics from beside him, “you’re bleeding. Let me patch you up before you lose too much blood.”

Oh, that was right. He had been shot.

The blonde woman led him over to one of the crates where they had sought cover only minutes earlier. “Sit down, sir. You must be getting lightheaded from the blood loss. It’s a wonder you’re still standing.”

And that explained the fuzzy feeling.

He let the EMT cut through his shirt sleeve, revealing a charred wound on the side of his upper arm. Castiel could honestly say he’d had worse. “Look at that,” grinned the woman, “it’s just a flesh wound.”

Castiel gave her a weak smile - or at least a grimace resembling one. His flesh wound was starting to hurt like a bitch.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you for her Game of Thrones knowledge and her much appreciated butt-kicking skills goes to eureka1. I know literally nothing about the show, also you honestly wouldn’t have got the chapter this soon without her.

Castiel was dragging his feet wearily down a dimly lit hallway of the Colorado Springs police station, hoping to reach his office before any more well-meaning people stopped him to ask after his well being, when a cultured voice behind him stopped him in his tracks, “What in the world happened to you, kitten? You’re quite the sorry sight. You look like you’ve just spent seven years being tortured on a rack in hell.”

The lieutenant turned around slowly, coming face to face with his British friend. “Crowley,” he sighed tiredly.

“I didn’t know you were back already,” the judge expounded wryly, “I’ve heard you caused quite the racket over in Fort Collins.”

Castiel shrugged, his movements rigid. “It was… intense,” he acquiesced.

“I’ll say.”

Castiel saw Crowley’s eyes slide up and down his body, checking him for injuries, before settling on the torn and bloody sleeve on his left arm. “It’s just a flesh wound,” he assured his friend.

The Brit raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Castiel-”

“It really is,” insisted the lieutenant, “the paramedic said so.”

Crowley winced. “Well, sorry, if I’m a bit hesitant to believe you. The last time you had a ‘flesh wound’, you had a piece of lead lodged in your ribcage, for goodness’ sake.”

Castiel considered getting offended for a moment but then had to concede Crowley was right. He had actually told the man that the bullet wound he received during a routine apartment search was just a scratch, when in reality it caused him to pass out in the ambulance. Crowley had never forgiven him for the deception and now always made a point to bring it up whenever Castiel was hurt. “This time it really is just a scratch,” he maintained.

The judge narrowed his eyes at him, probably trying to determine whether he was lying or not, before finally nodding. “Right. Well, good job then, you got the bloke and we can bang him up.”

Castiel frowned, leaning closer to hear his friend better. “I don’t think we’ll have to beat him, he seemed quite subdued and compliant when we arrested him. I’m sure he’s going to talk.”

His friend let out a raspy chortle. “I do not think it means what you think it means,” he cited and when Castiel gave him a blank look, he added, “Let me guess, you don’t understand that reference.”

The lieutenant tilted his head, “Indeed.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “To be banged up means to be jailed, no bodily harm involved. Well, kind off,” he finished with a tilt of his head.

Castiel just stared at his friend, “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to just say that rather than having this inane conversation?”

The judge shook his head in fond exasperation; his friend could be so ridiculously literal in his interpretations sometimes. It did make for a good comedy though, so he wasn’t to keen on ridding him of the quality. Looking him over one more time though, he did note that aside from the bandage and a bloodied sleeve, the man seemed to be okay, which was a relief. Throwing a quick look about to make sure there were no witnesses to what was about to take place, Crowley stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Cas in a tight hug. It wouldn’t do for anyone to think he had a heart, that would completely ruin his carefully cultivated reputation.

Castiel seemed rather nonplussed by the action, but endured the hug readily enough, even giving Crowley a pat on the back to further reassure him that he was okay. He then stepped back, cleared his throat, and stated, “Well, I’d better head to my office. As always, there is a lot of paperwork to complete.”

As the lieutenant turned away, Crowley dryly commented, “Well, when you take a break from the paperwork, you may want to wash your hair and, perhaps, even take a shower.” He chuckled, “You somehow managed to get blood in it. The Frankenstein look might be ideal for interrogating our jailbird, but not so much for dealing with normal people.”

Castiel froze in his steps, slowly turning back around, his face practically glowing. “I understood that reference,” he said in a mildly excited tone, “I’ve read Mary Shelley.”

“Good for you,” was the sarcastic response.

The detective narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Though Frankenstein was actually the doctor, not the monster, so technically it would be-”

“Paperwork’s waiting, kitten,” Crowley interrupted him. As much as he adored the shaggy-haired man, he was in no mood to listen to an hour-long lecture on British literature.

Castiel closed his mouth and straightened up a bit, immediately acquiring a more professional posture. “Of course, there are reports to be written.”

Crowley nodded in sympathy. “Well, it  _ is _ said that the most difficult thing about killing a man is the paperwork,” he joked, earning himself a scathing look from his friend.

“I’ll go and write about how I shot a man to death then, shall I?” Castiel said stiffly, no longer comfortable with the conversation. It wasn’t the first time he had killed someone and in all honesty, it probably wouldn’t be the last, but he was far from comfortable talking about it yet. Logically, he knew he’d had no other choice but to aim for the heart, yet there were some unwelcome emotions brewing inside him that rebelled against the notion.

The lieutenant sighed; there was no point going over it now, what was done was done. Once the Post Incident Procedures started on Thursday, he’d have to repeat the whole thing so many times to a number of different people that he’d have it permanently seared into his neural pathways. It was going to be right hell, he reckoned, the only highlight of the upcoming couple of days being his long overdue interrogation of Lucifer.

Castiel slid behind his desk once he was in his office and looked around. He knew he should write down what had happened in that warehouse as long as it was still fresh in his mind, but he found himself sitting in his chair not knowing what to do with himself. He felt jittery and not able to concentrate on anything. Standing up again, he ran his hands over his shirt, trying to straighten out the scrunched up fabric uselessly. He noticed little drops of dried blood spotting the shirt, where either he or Officer Lloyd had bled on it. Perhaps he should take Crowley’s advice and clean himself up.

He made his way to the head and stood in front of one of the basins, looking at himself in the mirror. Well, he had definitely seen better days, he thought. His eyes were irritated, his hair matted with Lloyd’s blood, and there was a smudge of dirt on his jaw. Tugging a few paper towels from a dispenser and wetting them with a bit of water, he decided to wipe at his spotted shirt first. The first few swipes, nothing happened, and then the dried blood dissolved in the water and smudged all over in a pink hue. Great.

Castiel threw away the wet ball of paper towels in frustration, deciding to try his hand at washing out his hair. Bending over the basin, he stuck his head underneath the tap. He tried to run his fingers through his tresses, succeeding only in getting them tangled up in the mess instead.

Grunting, he watched as the water turned pink, little flakes of dried blood swirling away with it. A few long minutes later, when the water finally turned back clear, Castiel turned it off and shook his head in a spectacular imitation of a dog as he tried to dry his hair a little. He would have to stick it underneath the hand dryer before leaving the john.

As the last thing, Cas decided to tackle the dirt on his left side of the face. He wet another handful of paper towels and swiped it against his jaw. Nothing happened.

“Out, damned spot,” he grunted as he pressed a bit harder, wincing as a twinge of pain ran through to the back of his head. A bruise then, he realised, having no idea how he had come to have it in the first place. He didn’t remember landing on his face when he’d tackled Lloyd but it was the only explanation for the injury he could come up with. Castiel stopped rubbing at the bruise, figuring it wouldn’t come off after all, and went over to the hand dryer to try and blow dry his hair. Hopefully, this would help him look less like Dr. Frankenstein's monster and more like a Lieutenant detective.

The racket of the machine didn’t even register, probably because compared to the sound of a rifle it was nothing, and the lieutenant spent about five minutes crouched underneath the hot air. Looking in the mirror one last time to check his appearance, Castiel left the bathroom and headed back to his office.

There on his table was a memo from his Post Incident Manager telling Cas to come to his office first thing, reminding him once again of what had occurred that day. Despite his best efforts, Castiel couldn’t stop himself from replaying the whole shooting scene in his head - his memory helpfully providing a detailed recollection. Having such a good memory was sometimes a curse, not suited for the faint-hearted.

Sitting down behind his desk again, he shook his head; he really didn’t want to think about work right now. His mind was still reeling, unable to settle on one thought as it flailed through a thick fog of unwanted emotion. He really didn’t want to care that the thug he had shot was dead, wishing he could be like some of his colleagues and just say, “Good riddance!” and be done with it. That wasn’t the way he had been programmed though.

His gaze falling upon the cellphone that lay on the corner of his desk, Castiel’s mind went to Dean. Maybe if he called the man and talked to him for a while, he’d manage to forget about the day he’d had? On second thought, foregoing the reports and meeting up with Dean instead was sure to lift his spirits.

His mind made up, Castiel picked up the phone and dialed the mechanic’s number.

 

When Dean heard the ‘Eins zwei Polizei’ ringtone, he eagerly grabbed for his phone. Thankfully, this time he had the blasted thing in his pants pocket and didn’t have to search for it. Not wanting to sound like an infatuated teenage girl who wore her heart on her sleeve, he uttered a simple “Hello,” after he pressed the ‘accept call’ icon.

“Are you free this evening, Dean?” he heard Castiel ask a bit stiffly, foregoing the greetings. The lieutenant was always socially awkward and, for some reason, that usually appealed to the mechanic, but now the man just sounded weird and it made Dean’s hair stand on end.

“Yes . . .” he responded, hesitating briefly, “did you want to get together?” He really hoped that was the case, but Castiel really sounded off, so he didn’t want to seem too keen in case he was shot down.

“Would you like to meet at the park where we watched the fireworks? The corner nearest Pikes Peak Avenue?” Castiel suggested.

“Sure. What time?” Dean asked. He’d been hunched over his laptop, which he’d set up on the coffee table in Bobby’s living room, for over two hours now and the eighth chapter of ‘The Game is Up’ - his latest Game of Thrones’ endeavor - was still a real slog. No matter what he tried, the scene just wouldn’t form.

Perhaps meeting up with the lieutenant would be just the thing to make his ideas flow. He might even try and talk to the detective about his stories, despite the thought of Cas reading them still making him squirm. He’d never dated someone who knew about his Game of Thrones storytelling obsession, but the idea of sharing his hobby with Castiel was so tempting.

“I should be able to meet you there in about half an hour,” Castiel offered, pulling the amateur writer out of his thoughts. “Would that give you sufficient time to get to the park?”

Dean automatically checked the clock and frowned when he noticed the time. He had been writing longer than he’d originally thought, because it was already five to eleven at night. It raised the question as to why Castiel would want to meet him at such an hour - evening, my ass. Maybe something had happened? It would explain the hollow way Cas sounded.

Only one way to find out, he thought. “Okay. See you at half past then?” he inquired.

The lieutenant hummed in agreement and hung up. Dean chuckled in amusement at the man’s atrocious telephone etiquette. If it was anyone else, Dean might’ve got offended but he had a soft spot for the detective, so he took it in stride.

Closing his laptop and standing up, he smiled. He had a date to go to. Then his smile froze on his face. Shit! What was he going to wear? He had literally nothing presentable at Bobby’s. Where was Charlie when he needed her? Glaring at his ripped jeans and a Metallica T-shirt that had seen better days, Dean decided that if he slipped into some jeans without holes and threw a flannel shirt over the threadbare tee he had on, he’d look more or less presentable. He’d have to wear an overcoat anyway, since it was brass monkeys outside.

Exactly twenty-eight minutes later found Dean standing at the entrance to the Memorial Park, waiting for Castiel’s characteristic beige coat to make an appearance. He was freezing his arse off, and he couldn’t wait to cuddle up to the man - purely for warmth, of course.

When Castiel finally walked up to him though, he almost didn’t recognize him. Firstly, the detective wasn’t wearing his signature coat but some thick black jacket that could’ve only been police-issued since it defied any fashion sense; and, secondly, the man’s face was drawn so tight it barely even resembled the normally handsome man.

“Hi,” Dean greeted the man in a carefully cheerful voice.

“Hello, Dean,” rasped the lieutenant, his voice gravelly harsh.

“Should we go sit down somewhere then?” Dean suggested in a quiet voice, not sure what to make of this Castiel.

“Beg your pardon?”

“Uh, I asked if you wanted to go and sit down somewhere,” Dean repeated in a louder voice.

The detective nodded his assent. “Of course, please do lead the way.”

Dean nodded, grabbing Castiel’s hand and tugging him forward towards a nearby bench, causing the detective to hiss.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologised, immediately dropping Cas’ hand, “are you ok?”

Castiel’s face was tense when he answered, “I am.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at the man. “I’m not an idiot, Cas, I can see something’s wrong,” Dean insisted, running his eyes over Castiel. “Now why don’t you make it easier on yourself and tell me what- oh my god, is that blood?” the mechanic cried out upon noticing Castiel’s shirt through his unzipped jacket.

The lieutenant grunted. “Yes,” he admitted, “It might not be mine, though.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “But you were hurt?” he posed it as a question, but there was no doubt in his mind that he was right.

Castiel capitulated. “I have a… wound on my arm.”

“What kind of a wound?” prompted Dean with raised eyebrows.

“A scratch. From a bullet.”

The mechanic’s eyes widened. “What? You got shot? Are you serious? Does it hurt? I mean, of course it hurts but does it like… hurt a lot? Oh my god, Cas, you got shot!”

Castiel laid a calming hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I am all right, Dean, you don’t have to worry. The paramedics have treated the wound and assured me that I will be perfectly fine in just a few weeks.”

Dean was still gaping at him. “How did it happen?” he whispered.

The detective leaned closer, an intent look on his face. “Excuse me?”

“How did it happen?” Dean repeated louder.

“I got shot,” deadpanned the lieutenant, but expanded before Dean could complain, “during a drug bust. We had word that Lucifer was hiding in a warehouse a few towns over, so we organised a team and went in to arrest him.”

“And he shot you?” the mechanic questioned in outrage.

Castiel shook his head. “No, Lucifer didn’t even have his gun as far as I know; it was one of his accomplices that injured me. I don’t actually even know his name.”

“How come?”

“I had to leave the scene immediately after being treated. It’s protocol, “the detective explained. “I don’t even know how many of them were killed, though I imagine I will find out tomorrow.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, before looking around and noticing they were still standing at the entrance of the park. “Come sit down and then you’re going to tell me everything.”

Castiel didn’t look too happy about it but he followed Dean without complaint. When they sat down, Dean pressed himself against Castiel’s good arm before asking, “So you arrested Lucifer?”

“Yes, he is currently under lock and key in Fort Collins. He will be transported here first thing, so that we can interrogate him.”

Dean nodded. “That’s good, I was starting to think the man had vanished into thin air,” he muttered.

Castiel gave an irritated sigh. “Could you speak up a little, Dean? After having an M16 going off right next to my ear, I’m having a bit of a trouble hearing.”

“Oh,” breathed Dean, feeling embarrassed he hadn’t realised the problem. “Of course,” he told Cas in a slightly raised volume. “So, uh, did you shoot anyone?”

The lieutenant’s jaw tightened as he clenched his teeth. “I’d really rather not talk about work right now, if you don’t mind. Can we talk about something else?”

Dean nodded, pressing even closer to Cas. “Sure. So… uh, I noticed you’re wearing your shoulder holster. What happened to not needing a gun when you’re meeting me?” he asked teasingly.

The detective didn’t even attempt a smile at his joke though. “It’s empty. I had to process my gun after the shooting.”

Dean could’ve hit himself. “I’m sorry, Cas. I probably shouldn’t talk at all.”

Castiel looked him in the eye. “We could kiss instead?” he said uncertainly.

Dean was taken aback. “What? Oh, really?” he asked excitedly.

The detective leaned forward, his warm breath brushing across Dean’s cheek. “Unless you object.”

Dean almost bumped his head against Castiel’s in his eagerness. “No objections,” he said hurriedly, “none at all.”

It was the detective who pressed their lips together in the end, a short close-mouthed peck that left Dean completely breathless. “Alright?” he questioned when they separated.

The mechanic didn’t bother answering, just stuck their mouths together again and squeezed himself even closer to Castiel, who in turn put his arm around Dean’s shoulders. The PG-rated kiss slowly evolved into an open-mouthed, wet snogging session that made his toes curl and his stomach erupt in collywobbles.

Long minutes later, Dean and Cas settled back on the bench, arms snugly wrapped around each other. With his head resting on Castiel’s shoulder, Dean summoned the gumption to talk about ‘The  Game’s Up’. If he didn’t have to look the lieutenant in the face, he could totally talk about fictional threesomes, right?

“Uh, Cas, so the story I’m currently writing . . .” Dean’s voice petered off as he again had second thoughts about discussing royal hijinks in bed.

“Yes?” Castiel encouraged, rubbing his thumb across the spot on Dean’s neck that was exposed to the cold night air.

“Well, I’ve created this universe, where it’s a really big deal that winter is coming because it’s going to take over the whole world,” Dean explained. “And the different factions are so busy trying to fuck each other over - literally and figuratively - that they aren’t banding together to fight it.”

When Dean paused, Cas rumbled, “It seems reasonable that you would want your characters to work together in that case.”

“Exactly! I mean, that’s what they need to do to ‘shake the winter of their discontent and create a brave new world’,” Dean excitedly responded, citing a part of his summary. He was thrilled by the opportunity to point out how the famous bard had influenced his work and wondered if Cas would make the connection. “That’s one of the reasons I’ve called my story, ‘The Game is Up’.”

“That’s very clever,” Castiel approved, “basing your title off Shakespeare like that. May I inquire as to what the connection is between him and your story?”

“Well, there’s a lot of similarities between his plays and the medieval setting for the Thrones. I mean there’s all that swordplay and all those unnecessary deaths. Lots of sex, too. Heck, ‘sheathing one’s sword’ was typical innuendo in his day. But mainly I just quote him whenever possible - not that anyone ever notices.”

“That is very interesting, Dean,” Cas responded, “I would very much like to know more. What makes your world different from Shakespeare’s sixteenth-century milieu?”

Sheesh, there the man went again. Didn’t he ever use layman’s lingo? Dean constantly had to guess Castiel’s meaning from the context of the conversation. Maybe that was how Dean’s readers felt at times? Cas had immediately caught on to the references to the Bard, something that went over most of his readers’ heads, as evidenced by the reviews they left.

“There are the added elements of magic and fantasy creatures, like dragons. Otherwise, it’s probably much the same. Gorgeous people, sex, and swordfights. I mean, there can never be too much of a good thing, right?” Dean blushed a bit, but it was how he felt and what he wrote so he might as well just admit it.

“Indeed,” agreed the lieutenant, amusement clear in his deep voice. “I’d very much like to read one of your stories. I reckon I could use something good to lose myself in right now.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed quietly - too quietly, perhaps, since Castiel didn’t seem to have heard him. He went on, speaking a bit louder, “Fanfiction also has other advantages than just dragons. When it’s my own story, I can fix whatever I think is wrong with the show. Like Daenerys and Jon not being together.”

“Oh?” prompted the detective.

“Yes, they totally belong together, no matter what anyone thinks,” Dean declared passionately, “so I changed the canon - and I transported Jon from Westeros to Meereen.” At the detective’s blank look, he chuckled sheepishly. “Oh, right, you don’t know anything about Thrones. Well, imagine the mess in medieval Europe - all those kings and queens fighting over land and thrones. It’s like that in my story, but it would be easier if I just showed you the outline I’ve created instead of trying to describe it now.”

Castiel shook his head fondly at the mechanic’s enthusiasm. “That is a splendid idea. I would be very much interested in observing your creative process,” Castiel told him, his fingers playing with Dean’s hair, “We house our case files on the police computer system mainframe, and anyone who needs to can view them and even make comments on open cases. Is there a similar mechanism available for fan fiction?”

“Uh, well . . . ehm, yeah,” Dean stuttered, “but I’ve never had someone comment on a work in progress before.” The mechanic shifted nervously, “Then again, it might help, cause I did want to ask your advice on something. I’m kind of stuck at the moment.”

“I’d be glad to assist however I can, Dean,” Castiel offered sincerely. “What caused your writer’s block to descend?”

Dean’s words tumbled out, almost tripping over one another, “Daenerys and Jon, the main characters in this AU . . . uh, that’s an alternate universe, they’re trying to pull one over on their main opponent.” Dean stopped speaking, taking a deep frustrated breath before continuing, “So, right now, with their military advisors, Dany and Jon are trying to figure out the logistics of sailing from Meereen to Westeros and successfully invading King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros.”

“Yes?” the detective inquired, “how might I help with that?”

“Well, maybe you have some experience with, like, Swat teams . . . and, uh, invasions? Or something,” Dean babbled. He looked up at Castiel, flushing a bit in spite of the freezing winter air, feeling like a right prat. “Uh, you do stuff like that when you’re catching the bad guys, right? I mean, you just got shot,” he bumbled on, once more wanting to kick himself for bringing up the lieutenant’s job.

Castiel tensed up where he was pressed against Dean, so the mechanic quickly continued, “Probably best not to get into all that now, though.”

The detective nodded. “Thank you.”

“You have to promise me something though,” Dean urged, bringing his lips closer to Castiel’s, “If you ever want to talk, just call me - tonight, tomorrow, whenever. Really, I’d be glad to listen. I mean, if I was in your shoes, I wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink.”

Dean was glad he’d been so bold, when Castiel leaned forward and they exchanged another tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you aren’t familiar with Dean’s ringtone for Cas, give it a listen here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V2ce-ioNMfg.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the case is closed, my friends. I hope you're just as made up about it as I am :) Only one chapter to go!  
> Thank you again to my beta eureka1 for helping me out. Couldn’t have done it without my Synergy Sister.

Castiel walked up to Balthazar, who was sitting at a nearby desk, a computer screen in front of him, the feed from Interrogation One open in a window. “Is everything ready?” he asked the officer.

Balthazar nodded. “I hope he squirms,” he remarked enthusiastically, watching the screen, “I love it when they squirm.”

Castiel nodded absentmindedly, acknowledging the man’s zeal, but not having the strength to comment on it. He was absolutely exhausted and it wasn’t even three in the afternoon yet.

The day had been undoubtedly tiring, though, as he had spent the whole morning recounting the events of the past day to numerous different people, going over each and every detail several times until it was all he could think about.

He had been asked time and time again how many bullets he had fired - twenty, he had emptied two magazines - and where they had hit - not entirely sure but he knew at least five had hit flesh. At his PIM’s prompting, Castiel had tried to remember as much as he could, but the whole experience was overshadowed by the onslaught of adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins at the time. It also didn’t help his concentration that most of the questions had been aimed at discrediting him, which wasn’t anything unusual for Post Incident Investigation but was disconcerting nonetheless.

“Boss?” Balthazar’s voice brought him out of his musings.

The lieutenant sighed. “I know,” he grumbled, “I’m going now.”

Castiel straightened up, trying to look like he wasn’t totally done in, and walked over to Interrogation One, noting the label had already been flipped to say ‘in use’, and opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted the sandy-blond man who was sitting at the table in the corner of the room with his head bowed, “I am Lieutenant Novak of the Colorado Springs Homicide.”

Lucifer didn’t raise his head but his keen blue eyes did flit briefly to the detective. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

Castiel didn’t feel discouraged by the response - it was nothing he hadn’t had to deal with before - and looked the man over. He was surprisingly handsome, with his stocky build, hair tousled, and a rugged face. His brow was somewhat furrowed, as if the man was perpetually worried and not simply undone by his present circumstances, and there was light stubble covering his upper lip and chin. His direct gaze seemed to convey an earnest honesty, which Castiel wouldn’t have expected from a criminal with such a lengthy rap sheet.

Finishing his perusal of the thug, Castiel went over to sit down, setting his things on the table. “You are under arrest,” he informed the man, “be advised that you have the right to remain silent, and that anything you say will be used against you in court. You have the right to consult an attorney and have them present during questioning. If you are indigent, an attorney will be provided at no cost to represent you.”

Lucifer sneered. “Not the first time I hear that, mate.”

Castiel leaned back in his chair. “I’m sure,” he commented dryly.

“So you know I won’t fall for no cop tricks, right?” insisted the thug, “I told the mug that brought me in that I don’t need no attorney. The last one you lot gave me screwed me over and I ended up in the can.”

The detective opened one of the folders he had brought in with him, flipping to the appropriate page. “Yes, for attempted first-degree murder and an aggravated assault. You had kidnapped and tortured a man.”

Lucifer raised a forefinger, sitting forward in his chair. “Yes, but I didn’t try to kill the dipstick.”

“Just like you didn’t try to kill Mr Lafitte?” asked Castiel, his tone almost bored, “it seemed to be a very similar situation after all.”

“I ain’t got nothing to do with that.” Lucifer refused the implication.

“Indeed,” the lieutenant commented imperturbably, “and I suppose your uncle is lying when he says you shot him?”

Lucifer reared up in his seat indignantly. “That fucker! I did no such thing. The old geezer is outta his mind.”

“And Alistair?” questioned Castiel with slightly raised eyebrows, “he’s lying too?”

Getting himself back under control, the criminal shrugged his shoulders, a self-assured grin on his face. “Must be.”

The detective put on a sympathetic face. “He seemed quite genuine to me. Do you really think he has the mental faculties to come up with such a believable story? I had the impression he wasn’t the all that quick-witted.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes cockily. “Tell me something I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

Castiel leaned back in his chair, not the least ruffled by the man’s attitude. “When a male bee climaxes, their testicles explode and they die,” he said in a deadpan tone.

The criminal was visibly startled by the sudden non sequitur. “Wha?” he croaked out, “really?”

Castiel’s bland expression didn’t change although he gave himself a mental pat on the back. He had intended to bring Lucifer out of balance and, as it seemed, had been successful. “Indeed, there is no further purpose for the drone after it ejacultes.”

Lucifer snorted. “Is this some new interrogation technique? Bore the suspect with useless trivia?”

The lieutenant furrowed his brow. “Bees aren’t useless, they are a vital part of our ecosystem. They are the most efficient pollinators, being responsible for pollinating about a third of the food we eat. They also fill an important purpose for birds and small mammals, which feed on seeds and fruits that come from plants pollinated by bees. Even Albert Einstein allegedly said that ‘if the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe, then man would only have four years left to live’. That is admittedly an exaggeration, however it shows how critical bees are to our continued existence.”

The thug yawned theatrically, not being appreciative of the lecture at all. “Whatever, are we done here? I wanna go back to my cosy little cell. It’s way nicer than this hovel of yours anyway.”

“You  _ could _ go,” admitted Castiel, “but keep in mind that we have all the evidence we need in order for you to never see the world from outside of a maximum security prison ever again. Think about it - anything you tell me now can only help you.”

Lucifer sneered. “I’m ending up in the nick either way, no point in telling you anything. Can’t help me.”

The detective tilted his head, a look of faux-concern on his face. “Do you honestly believe that? Because you are currently facing first and second-degree murder changes.”

“I didn’t kill nobody!” was the outraged response.

“That is not what Alistair told us,” insisted Castiel. “He said you shot Benny Lafitte because he didn’t want to give you any money.” That wasn’t actually true, since Alistair had completely folded during his interrogation and had admitted that it was him who had accidentally pulled the trigger. What Lucifer didn’t know, though, couldn’t influence him.

The criminal was starting to get red in his face, his handsome features drawing into an ugly scowl. “Al should just wind his neck in. Don’t you see he’s trying to stitch me up?”

The lieutenant remained unfazed, wanting to get a confession out of the blond. “The story seemed quite believable to me,” he continued to needle him, “And while it might not be the truth, it is what the jury is going to believe if you don’t give them a different version of events to consider.”

Lucifer puffed up in indignation but, when he couldn’t come up with another reason to maintain his innocent front, his shoulders sagged. “Fine, whatever.”

Castiel congratulated himself silently, glad to have made the decision to goad the suspect. He opened his notebook, pen at the ready. “Why Benny Lafitte?” he asked, “Why shoot him?”

The criminal shook his head, still a little reluctant to talk. “I had no beef with the guy; it’s his brother that deserves a trouncing.”

Castiel jotted down some made up shorthand, nodding to indicate he was listening. “Lennie Lafitte,” he offered.

“Yeah, that one. He diddled me, he did.”

“So you decided to teach him a lesson.”

Lucifer shrugged. “Look, what was I supposed to do?” he asked, “Imagine this, the little twit offers to sell me some grass, right? So I try it and it’s legit, so I order a whole pound, right? I give him the dough, three grand six hundred, and the next thing I know, the tosser is gone with both the weed and my money.”

“When was this?” inquired the detective.

“I dunno, the fifteenth?”

Castiel wrote down the date, though it didn’t seem very important at the moment. “Very well, and what did you do afterwards?”

“Asked around, didn’t I?” the ruffian said with raised eyebrows, “But the coward booked it. No one knew where he done gone and I was looking real thorough, trust me. I even asked my mate to help me draw the little weasel out.”

“That would be Alistair Kramny?” Castiel guessed.

“Yeah, Al. But it wasn’t worth the bother. All I got out of it was his brother’s number.”

“So you called him.”

Lucifer sighed. “Not at first, I didn’t. I thought it would be just another dead end, but Al said that I should give the fella a call, that he might know where his useless waste of space of a brother went. So I called but the guy went all protective on my arse, said he didn’t know where Lennie was but that he’d meet with me himself.”

“And when did this happen?”

“Christmas Eve evening, wasn’t it? It was already dark out.”

“So you agreed to meet with him?” prompted the detective, when Lucifer didn’t look like he was about to continue.

“Uh, actually,” grunted the thug after clearing his throat, “could I get some water?”

Castiel pressed his lips in a thin line, trying not to feel annoyed. It was never a good idea to stop for refreshments in the middle of an interrogation, unless you were trying to gain the suspect’s trust. “Of course,” he said, sure one of the officers listening in on the interview would bring in a glass, “why don’t you tell me if you agreed to meet Mr Lafitte while we’re waiting?”

“Yeah, right. Of course I agreed to meet the fucker, his shit brother owes me money. I told him to be at the Peyton Middle-High car park in an hour and off we went.”

“You and Alistair.”

Lucifer bit his lip. “Yeah. On the way there, Al pulled out the gun. I didn’t even know he had one, I swear.”

“Did he say what he intended to do with it?”

“Nah, just sorta toyed with the thing. I reckoned he might have it just to scare the guy, you know? Have him spill where Lennie was. It was supposed to be an easy deal.”

“What happened then?”

“Went balls up, didn’t it? The joker came with a chaperone, this scary-looking black dude with a goatee,” Lucifer paused when Hannah, who manned the front desk, brought in a glass of water. He took a long sip of the drink before clearing his throat again. Then he continued, “I talked to him for a while but he was all calm and patronizing, which was pissing me off. I told him that if he didn’t know where his piece of shit brother was, he can just lump it, but he insisted he could pay me back.”

When Lucifer halted his narration there, Castiel asked, “How did he intend to do that?”

“Didn’t say, I don’t think he had a clue either, he was all talk.”

The detective noted it down just for the sake of it. “What happened then?”

“Then Al got out of the car, waving the gun around. He told the guy to get in, that we were going for a ride.”

“And you weren’t aware that he was going to do that?”

“Heck no,” Lucifer assured him, “surprised the shit out of me too, I was in no mood to play taxi with no nobody. But the guy just turned to the black grandpa of his, told him he’d be fine, and then came with us.”

“He didn’t defend himself?” Castiel queried.

Lucifer shook his head, hands rising up in a placating gesture. “Went willingly, I swear. It was no kidnapping.”

The lieutenant stared at him incredulously. “You threatened him with a gun, I doubt he went willingly,” he opposed.

The thug just shrugged, seemingly not caring either way.

Castiel outwardly conceded the point, asking with a patient tone, “Where did you go then?”

“Drove back to Springs. Al was talking shit to the fella in the back but didn’t get no rise outta him. Face like a stone, the dude, I swear. Told us his address and that he had the money there.”

Castiel nodded. “So you drove him to his flat,” he prompted.

“Right. We walked up the stairs, Al jabbing the gun into his back the whole way. I remember almost kaking myself when we passed this old minger on the landing at one point but she didn’t see nothing.”

Castiel jotted the information down in his notebook, wondering who the old lady was and if she had already been questioned. It was entirely possible since most witnesses don’t usually recall anything worthwhile. “And then?”

“The guy sat down on the couch and started making lists like some professor,” Lucifer said in a derisive tone, “He was all like, ‘the TV’s a good one, so it’s worth five hundred bucks if you pawn it off’ and ‘you can take the microwave too’. He was taking too long though and we were losing patience. Al told him like five thousand times to hurry the fuck up but he was still scribbling away like nothing was up, just told Al to calm down.”

Castiel tensed imperceptibly. They were getting to the relevant part. “What was Alistair doing, while Mr Lafitte was making the list?” he asked, wording the question carefully.

“Like I said, he was off to the side, shouting at Lafitte,” was the answer.

“And the gun?” he abetted.

“Had it trained at the poor sod, didn’t he? Wouldn’t have popped him off otherwise.”

And there it was. “Why  _ did _ he shoot him?”

Lucifer pursed his lips. “Don’t know, I don’t think he really meant to cause he started freaking out as soon as the gun went off.”

That correlated with what Alistair had already told them. “And what about you? Did you panic?”

“Not at first, I was like ‘Whatever, dude, you shot him’,” Lucifer bragged, “but then I realised he’d actually killed him and the dude’s brains were splattered all over the wall. I almost barfed.”

The lieutenant thought that might or might not be true. “What happened then?”

“We bailed. Ran outta there like the hellhounds were chasing us and drove to my uncle’s. We told Dick what happened and he got the hump with us, but he knew what to do. He cleaned the gun and then drove us back, told us to bring anything that might have our dabs on it.”

“Uh huh,” prompted Castiel, still making notes.

“So we went back in and took some electronics and stuff. Al wanted to keep the shit and then pawn it off but Dick said the cops would suss us out if he did, so we just dumped the lot.”

“Do you remember where?”

“Nah, man. I wasn’t really paying attention, I was thinking about how I had to skip town, cause I wasn’t about to get banged up again, was I? Al kept asking me what we were going to do, but I told him where to get off for bothering me. Then when we got back to Dick’s, I waited until both him and Al snored off and scarpered.”

Castiel put away his pen and notebook, leaning back in his chair. He had what he needed, now to just tie up a few loose ends. “Where did you go?” he followed up.

“I hitched a ride with this Chink lady - didn’t speak a word of English - and got her to drive me to Fort Collins. I got some mates there that I could lay low with.”

Castiel winced at the slur but didn’t comment, instead prompting Lucifer to continue with a motion of his hand.

“You know the rest,” shrugged the thug, “I was hiding away at this warehouse, leaving only when I was sent on errands, until your lot busted in, guns blazing. You should’ve seen it, it was chaos. The cops were shouting to drop our guns - not that I had one, mind you - and then they started shooting at us. It was hell.”

The lieutenant didn’t acknowledge his part in the bust, not wanting to antagonize Lucifer any further. Mentally going over everything he had wanted to get out of the thug, Castiel concluded that he had all the information he needed and stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said, not even glancing at the blond man as he gathered his things. Then without acknowledging him any further, he left the room.

“Way to end an interview, boss,” grinned Balthazar as the lieutenant closed the door to Interrogation One behind him.

Castiel just shot him a tired look. “Take him back to his cell,” he ordered, “and then you can head home. We have the criminals under lock and key, and the follow-up reports can wait till morning.”

“I’m all for that, Lieutenant!” Balth smiled even wider and hurried to collect Luke to take him back down to holding quickly, so he could head out to enjoy the rest of the day before his boss changed his mind.

“Balthazar, let Uriel know he should head out, too, please,” Castiel called after his officer as the cheerful man opened the door to Interrogation One.

“Will do, Boss,” Balthazar moved even faster, still suspecting that the lieutenant might change his mind at any moment and not wanting to get stuck writing reports. Castiel was a fair man and an incredible detective - almost always closing his cases - but he usually had his nose to the grindstone and sometimes forgot that his officers had personal lives.

There was that new officer over at sex crimes that Balthazar had met a couple weeks earlier that he really wanted to get to know better, but couldn’t see very often since she worked nights and slept through the days. This was one of the rare occasions that Castiel let them go home early, though, and Balthazar planned to take advantage.

As soon as he had Lucifer back in his cell, Balth would whip out his cellphone and call Anna to meet him somewhere before her night shift.

Castiel shook his head at his officer’s enthusiasm and trudged toward his office. He wanted to fire off a couple emails while he was still riding the high of closing a case and had the energy. Then he, too, would head home for the day.

Powering up his computer, he rubbed a tired hand across his face before his gaze fell upon his phone. Might as well send a text to Gabriel to inform him that the case was finally officially closed. His brother always liked it when Castiel confided in him, because it made him feel important despite the fact that Castiel never told him any confidential information.

‘Case closed,” he typed in, ‘we arrested Lucifer.’

A few seconds later - honestly, the man had his phone glued to his hand - came the reply, ‘That calls for a celebratory cake, lil’ bro. Wanna meet up?’

Castiel considered his options. He might either go and visit Gabriel, which had the advantage of professionally baked cake but the disadvantage of having to deal with an overly-cheerful sibling on a sugar high. Or he might go home, open the bottle of whiskey Crowley had given him for his birthday and sip at the amber beverage in the peacefulness of his living room.

Or, he thought with a start, there was a third option. He might call Dean and take him up on his offer of good company. Who knows, he might even end up talking shop, despite his dislike of discussing his work with civilians.

Making his mind up, he shot off a quick text to his brother, ‘I can’t. I’ve had a better offer.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you are interested in watching a drone mating with his queen, here’s a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgNe-Ffr394


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the epilogue!   
> Big thank you goes to eureka1 - I wouldn't have been able to finish the story this fast or this well without you, Synergy Sister.  
> It has been a great journey and I love and appreciate all of my readers, thank you for commenting!

The shirt was itchy as hell, thought Dean for what was at least the fifteenth time that day, he really should’ve worn his AC/DC T-shirt instead. Benny wouldn’t have minded if he had, he was sure. The mechanic let out a long breath, the warm air coming out of his mouth joining the morning mist that hovered above the ground. It was quiet, the only sounds to be heard the crunching of the gravel beneath his feet and the quiet whispers of the people walking in front of him.

“This is awkward,” he whispered to Cas, who was walking beside him, having traded his signature tan coat for a high-collared black one. It looked really good on him and for some reason, it made him look taller and even a bit menacing. Dean felt a pleasurable shiver race through his body in spite of the solemnity of the occasion.

“Funerals are almost always awkward, Dean,” grumbled the detective.

Dean shrugged, scuttling closer to the other man for warmth, not changing his pace. “I know, but this one is super awkward. I never thought I would be at a funeral, where there are more cops and soldiers than there are family members.”

Castiel took Dean’s hand, squeezing his fingers warmly. “My funeral wouldn’t be any different,“ he mused, “It would be only people from my department and then my brother, Gabriel.”

“And me,” Dean stated a bit shyly, “I’d be there Cas.”

Castiel couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy about the prospect of his own funeral. He clasped Dean’s hand more tightly, “I’m glad to know, Dean, that should that occasion ever arise, you’ll be there.”

“But you’ll be careful on the job, right?” Dean felt his anxiety rising at the thought of losing the detective when he was just getting to know the man. “I mean, I know it’s your job to go after the bad guys, but I don’t want you to be hurt again.”

Castiel teasingly reassured Dean, “Of course, I’ll be careful. I wouldn’t want to miss our outing to the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo.”

Dean chuckled, his melancholy mood lifting a bit, more comforted by Castiel’s lighthearted remark than he would have been by promises that the lieutenant likely wouldn’t be able to keep.

They continued walking slowly and in a companionable silence, following the hearse and the rest of the procession, until they reached the funeral home and went in after Benny’s parents.

Upon first arriving, Dean let out a sigh of relief when he noticed Mr and Mrs Lafitte weren’t accompanied by Lennie. He probably would have tried to beat the crap out of him, which would not only ruin the whole affair, but it would also probably force Cas to arrest him. Thank god, the slimy, drug-dealing excuse for a brother was most likely still hiding from Lucifer, shaking in his little loafers.

Once inside, Dean and Castiel joined a line of people that were giving their condolences to the mourning parents, who were standing near the casket. They slowly inched their way over. Both of Benny’s parents seemed to have aged perceptibly since Dean had last seen them. Mrs Lafitte was barely holding it together, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Mr Lafitte, Mrs Lafitte, I’m so sorry about Benny,” Dean blurted sincerely, awkwardly thrusting out his hand to pay his respects. Although Benny had been his best friend, he barely knew the parents, having only met them a couple of times. The last time being over the holidays more than a year earlier. That had degenerated into a shouting match between Benny, Lennie, and their folks, which ended up with Benny and Dean leaving shortly after they’d arrived at the Lafitte’s house.

“Thank you, young man,” Mr Lafitte responded solemnly as they shook hands.

Between sobs, Mrs Lafitte got out, “I know you were a good friend to our Benny. I wish we’d made more of an effort with our son. Now it’s too late,” her voice tapered off as fresh sobs racked her gaunt frame.

Dean just somberly nodded, squeezing her hand one more time before moving on to pay his respects to the his deceased best friend.

Dean found it hard to dredge up much pity for Benny’s mom and dad as he looked down at the wooden box his friend was lying in. Too right it was too late now for the Lafittes to make an effort with Benny. They’d always been so busy coddling Lennie, excusing him every time he got into trouble, that they mostly forgot they had another son.

Mr and Mrs Lafitte wouldn’t even get one last glimpse of the son they’d neglected. There was no open casket. Apparently, despite the police pathologist trying to put Benny back together as well as he could, his friend still had a gaping hole on the side of his head. Dean shuddered. He didn’t think he’d ever erase that image of Benny on the couch.

Castiel was a warm, steadying presence at Dean’s side, making it easier for him to get through the ordeal at the funeral home. The lieutenant had quietly extended his sympathies to Benny’s parents and now stood next to Dean as he closed his eyes tightly, trying to suppress his tears.

Just before the service began, Dean and Castiel sat down near the front of the chapel, not far from the casket. Had it really only been a fortnight since he’d last seen Benny? Dean wondered. So much had been packed into that short span of time that it seemed like months must have elapsed since Dean had discovered Benny’s corpse in their apartment, rather than just a measly two weeks.

The quiet of the room deepened even more when a man dressed in an inconspicuous black suit walked up to the front of the chapel and instructed a few people still loitering about to sit down. The funeral director - at least Dean assumed that’s who the man was - stepped up to a little wooden podium with a microphone and began talking. His voice was soothing and clear, which should have been a good combination but instead it had a soporific effect.

As Dean fought the urge to doze off, he reckoned the man should have been an insomnia specialist. Looking around, he noted that most people were stifling yawns. Castiel, who must’ve had lots of practice in the past with long, boring stakeouts, was also fighting against that hypnotizing drone. Dean saw him surreptitiously dig his nails into the palm of his hand in a desperate effort to stay alert.

“... and proudly served his country…” the man droned on as Dean suppressed another yawn. It was probably never going to end, thought the mechanic; the speech had to have been going on for months already. Benny was a lucky bastard he didn’t have to suffer through this dull recital. No question he would’ve hated it. He’d told Dean more than once that if he ever kicked the bucket, he wanted his friends to hold a rousing wake, sharing memories of Benny that would make everyone smile and raise their glasses in a toast to a good friend, a good soldier, a good man. Of course, he had never thought he’d go quite this way, instead thinking more along the lines of being killed in the line of duty, but the sentiment would’ve been the same regardless.

When the funeral director finally ceased speaking, no one noticed for a minute. The man repeated his invitation for a member of the family to come forward - his first one apparently having been ignored completely - but no one moved toward the podium. The bespectacled little man tried to cover the awkward break in the proceedings, “Why don’t all of you join the funeral procession and follow the hearse up the hill toward the burial site?”

Dean wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that neither Mr nor Mrs Lafitte stood up to share a memory of their son. He could kind of understand Mrs Lafitte not saying anything as she’d been weeping steadily through the funeral director’s tedious blathering. But why hadn’t Mr Lafitte stepped forward? It was already too late but, even so, this was his last chance to make amends, to show how much Benny had meant to him. If he had actually cared about Benny, that is. Just then, Dean heard a woman’s voice mutter something about ‘useless gits’, and almost chuckled when he recognized it to be Jo Harvelle. Although he’d seen her enter the chapel with Ellen and Rufus, he hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with her yet.

Everyone slowly filed out of the chapel, Dean squeezing Castiel’s hand tightly in an attempt to comfort himself. As soon as they were all outside, Bobby walked over to give him a quick hug, and was soon followed by Jo, who wept into Dean’s jacket as they tried to console each other. Here was someone, he realized, who would probably miss Benny even more than Dean himself. They had just started to get serious, his friend even making some noises about choosing a ring and implying Dean should think about investing in a nice suit. The mechanic swallowed hard as it sank in that he’d never have the chance to stand at the altar with Benny, dutifully handing him a ring box in front of friends and family.

As they gave him their condolences, his friends exchanged polite nods with Castiel before the hearse started moving, and the procession slowly wended its way up the hill behind it. With the lieutenant on one side and Jo on the other, Dean looked around at all the weeping mourners. He sensed that some of them were also having difficulty dealing with Benny’s death. Perhaps, had he been killed in the line of duty, it would have been more tolerable, but for him to be murdered - that made it that much harder to accept. For Dean especially, it was traumatizing since he had seen the way Benny had looked. He’d seen Benny’s body crumpled on their couch, dried blood painting the wall behind him. He’d seen the damage the bullet had made. And he still kept seeing it, not able to get the sight of that blood-streaked scene out of his mind.

After yet another sleepless night, he’d even cracked and called a therapist that specialised in helping victims of violent crimes and had set up an appointment for later that week. Castiel had told him it was a good idea and that it might help him cope. In the very same breath though, he had added that no shrink had ever helped him. Dean had winced at that, but was still determined to go through with the therapy.

There was a deep rectangular hole already waiting for Benny, driving home the finality of the funeral service. As the mourners slowly gathered around, Officers Balthazar and Uriel hurried up the hill toward the grave site. They hadn’t wanted to intrude on the private ceremony at the chapel, but they’d planned to be there for the actual burial, both to support their lieutenant and to show respect for the deceased in their murder case, which was now thankfully resolved.

They’d been delayed at the station by a witness who was providing testimony for an open investigation, which meant they’d barely made it for the burial. Just as they reached the bereaved group, Balthazar stumbled and nearly tipped into the grave, arms windmilling so wildly that he almost backhanded Mrs Lafitte. Uriel acted quickly, grabbing his colleague by the collar and pulling him back from the edge.

Although Mrs Lafitte failed to see the humour in the moment, there were chuckles from some of the other mourners. Jo snickered and muttered, “Serves the old bat right.”

Dean snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. Benny would have appreciated the levity of the Keystone Kops’ moment, laughing his ass off at the bumbling cop. This whole funeral would have been much too sombre and staid for his best friend’s taste.

Castiel glowered at his two officers, thinking that this wasn’t at all appropriate behavior. What had gotten into his men? These unpredictable, clownish moments from Balthazar always caused problems at the worst times. Thankfully, Uriel had responded quickly,  keeping the situation from becoming even more of an embarrassment to the Springs police department. The lieutenant would have to speak to Balthazar about his conduct at the earliest opportunity. The man really was a fine officer. He just needed to learn to rein in his temperament.

As the crowd went to stand in a circle, Dean noticed that the number of soldiers and cops heavily outweighed the civilians. There were at least forty people in total, only two of which were direct family and five - including Dean - were Benny’s friends. The rest was made up by his best friend’s old army mates, some of the commanding officers he’d had the pleasure to work with over his years in service, and the police officers that had been investigating Benny’s murder. Not even Sam would’ve made much of a difference to the civilian numbers had he been able to come. His brother was in the middle of his exams, though, having a Criminal Law test the very next day.

As the casket was being lowered into the ground, Dean’s breath hitched. For some reason, this was the saddest part of the whole ceremony, he thought, making it seem real, final. He halfheartedly listened to the droning funeral director as he mumbled in a monotonous voice: “We therefore commit his body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Amen.”

The echoes of ‘Amen’ came from around the circle, and Dean had to exert all of his self-control in order to not roll his eyes at the rubbish. Benny would’ve hated that part. The man had always despised the thought that he was somehow destined to end up in the ground, as if someone greater than he intended for him to turn to dust once his time was done. The mechanic sent another bitter thought towards his friend’s parents, wondering, had they known Benny at all? The soldier hadn’t been the least bit religious, but he had once told Dean that if he were to choose what happened to him after death, he would want to reincarnate into some cute, little, fluffy animal. Dean smiled sadly - Benny had always been a romantic at heart - and made a mental note to buy himself a pet rabbit once he had his own place again.

He watched as Mrs Lafitte walked over to the grave after the casket had been lowered and threw a single red rose on top of the polished wood box. It made a soft, dull sound as it hit and Dean cringed. Funerals really sucked. He had been freaking out the whole weekend over it, after Castiel told him they had released the body Saturday morning. The lieutenant had needed to keep him company afterwards, staying late into the night. They had talked a lot about whatever had come to mind, Castiel even allowing a few words about his work to be traded.

Castiel had asked how Dean was progressing with “The Game is Up’, so Dean had reflexively grabbed his laptop and opened the story, giving it to Castiel to view. Nervously biting his knuckles, not sure how to distract himself while the lieutenant was reading, Dean had tried to plot out the next scene in his mind. He hadn’t wanted to disturb Bobby by pacing around the apartment, so his options had been limited.

Although Dean hadn’t written that many chapters yet, it seemed to the ‘Grease Monkey’ author that it had taken hours before Castiel had finally glanced over at him, nodded approvingly, and said, “Excellent world-building, Dean. I am looking forward to reading more about Daenerys and Jon proceed with Jaime.” He’d paused before continuing, “You might even persuade me to try an actual episode of ‘Game of Thrones’ after all.”

The gravel crunched underneath their feet again as they were leaving the cemetery. The mood was still sombre, but Dean felt a bit lighter than he had that morning. Watching Benny be laid to rest had been sad but weirdly freeing. He only realised that he had been carrying around a heavy heart the past couple of weeks once it lifted. It was a bitter thing to swallow, knowing he would never see his friend ever again, never laugh with him, never argue with him, never confide in him…

At least the people responsible for his best friend’s death had been incarcerated. It might not seem like much - it was hardly going to bring Benny back - but it did make things a little easier for Dean to digest. The sight of Benny’s lifeless body splattered with blood might never quite leave him, but he had at least stopped constantly looking over his shoulder in fear of being topped off at any moment.

Dean’s gaze fell to where his hand was clasped in Castiel’s, swinging a little between their bodies. Not everything that had happened had been bad, he told himself as hope hesitantly bloomed in his chest, meeting the stoic detective had been a godsend and he wouldn’t trade the man for anything.

Squeezing Castiel’s fingers, he smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Give me some love please :)


End file.
